


It Had To Be You

by useyourtelescope



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Bellarke Big Bang, Bellarke Bingo, Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Minor Monty Green/Harper McIntyre, POV Bellamy Blake, Pining, Prank Wars, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25752694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useyourtelescope/pseuds/useyourtelescope
Summary: Mr. Bellamy Blake had been the sole guardian of his younger sister Octavia for four years when his step-father’s old friend Mr. Kane unexpectedly offered to host the siblings in London for the season. Their journey had an inauspicious start when their carriage broke down and the Blakes were forced to seek shelter, causing their paths to cross with Miss Clarke Griffin.When he overhears her disparaging remarks about him and his sister, Bellamy impetuously decides to pretend that they are just as wealthy as Miss Griffin is—a pretence that unfortunately follows them all the way to London and not only sends fortune hunters in pursuit of the siblings, but also sets in motion a prank war between Mr. Blake and Miss Griffin.However, when one of Bellamy’s new friends begins courting Miss Griffin’s cousin, the two rivals are thrust into the roles of co-chaperones. Forced to spend time together, the two discover they have more in common than they had first supposed...Round 2 Winner in Best Alternate Universe Fic (More than 10,000 words), Best Romance Fic (More than 10,000 words) & Best Friends to Lovers Fic and Round 1 Winner in Best Slow Burn Fic at the 2020 Bellarke Fic Writer Awards
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 80
Kudos: 168
Collections: Bellarke Big Bang 2020, Bellarke Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a while in the making so I’m very excited to share it with you all. Last June I was reading ‘ **Arabella** ’ by Georgette Heyer and one of the early scenes gave me some real Bellarke vibes, but I knew I didn’t want to do a straight-forward adaptation of the whole story. Then I got my [Bellarke Bingo](https://bellarkebingo.tumblr.com) card and the random prompt of ‘prank war’ gave me an idea to try to write a prank war in a historical au. However, as I ended up writing another Regency AU for Bellarke last July ([Intimacy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19803853)) I felt like writing a different genre next and this somehow ended up on the backburner until it was time to decide what we were going to write for [Bellarke Big Bang](https://bellarkebigbang.tumblr.com) and I decided to finally tackle this. 
> 
> Some acknowledgements/thank yous:  
> Some of the setup is based on ‘ **Arabella** ’, but any similarities end in Part 1.  
> Thank you to Chloe for organising the Big Bang and to everyone hanging out on the BBB discord for the encouragement and all the sprints.  
> Thanks to Jen & Essie for the Bellarke Bingo cards - and an extra thank you to [Jen](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com) for reading an early version of Part 1 when I was still stressing over it.  
> Thank you to [megaphonemonday](https://megaphonemonday.tumblr.com) for her awesome beta skills.
> 
> And a huge thank you to [Julie](https://smallestbrown.tumblr.com), who has done the art paired with this fic. Her art is amazing and a huge inspiration when I was flagging with writing this thing (which turned twice the length I expected lol). You can check out the first piece she’s done for this fic on tumblr [here](https://smallestbrown.tumblr.com/post/626354344860762112/my-first-of-two-pieces-for-the-bellarkebigbang), with the second to come when the fic is completed; I have also included the art at the related points through the fic.

Mr. Bellamy Blake had been in the company of Miss Griffin for barely two hours before he declared her to be the most vexing person he ever had the misfortune to meet.

Of course, this pronouncement was only discreetly muttered to his sister Octavia once they were alone—vexing as Miss Griffin was, she was clearly a lady of consequence, and though he had spent the majority of his life in a small Yorkshire village, Bellamy still knew better than to make such a statement to her face.

He had never hitherto been in the habit of making such sweeping judgements about new acquaintances, but that evening, a few particular circumstances had driven him to this declaration.

The first was the rather unfortunate conditions of their meeting.

Bellamy had recently been contacted by a Mr. Marcus Kane, whose name he had heard mentioned only a handful of times, but who apparently had remembered his old school friend and Bellamy’s step-father Mr. Thomas Blake with such fondness that despite having lost contact years prior had decided to write to Bellamy on learning of his and Mrs. Aurora Blake’s passing. It was a very generous letter, offering support for both Bellamy and his younger sister, even though only Octavia had been his friend’s biological child. Had he received such a letter when the loss had first occurred, leaving Bellamy, then at six-and-twenty, the sole carer of a strong-willed fifteen-year old, he would have rejoiced. However, having successfully provided for Octavia in the four years since purely through his own determination and hard work—allowing no time for the idle pleasures other men enjoyed in their late twenties—his pride had prickled at the obvious assumption that help was not only required, but would be immediately welcomed.

Still, Mr. Kane could not be blamed for his unhurried correspondence. He had only just returned from five years on the continent, and Octavia—no less strong-willed despite the maturity the great age of nineteen had brought her—would not let her brother refuse an invitation to _London_ when the largest city they had ever visited was York.

The much longed-for journey got off to a sorry start when a terrible rainstorm not only prevented them from enjoying the scenery, but put them into a spot of bother when a broken axle caused their carriage to come to a sudden stop before they had even reached Grantham.

If he had been travelling alone, Bellamy would have waited in the broken carriage—leaky roof and all—until the footman returned with the necessary supplies to fix the problem, but Octavia had insisted on seeking shelter.

Bellamy had acquiesced under the belief that they could not be very far from the inn where they were to spend the night, but fate instead led them to a modest accommodation half a mile outside of Grantham. He had not wanted to intrude upon a private house, but when Octavia reminded her brother that he would not want her to catch cold on her first trip outside of Yorkshire, Bellamy had found himself in the unenviable position of asking the man of the house to provide temporary shelter for two rather bedraggled strangers.

Thankfully that man, Mr. Wells Jaha, was kindness itself—inviting the Blake siblings to join him and his party and insisting his servants light a fire and bring blankets and anything else that could be done to make them comfortable, even though he only had a small staff with him—the house normally standing empty at this time of year and only occupied now as Mr. Jaha was on his way back to London after a business trip North.

Had Mr. Jaha been the sole occupant of the house, Bellamy had no doubt the evening would have passed without complaint until the carriage was mended. However, they were joined by two of Mr. Jaha’s friends from London, Mr. Jasper Jordan and Miss Clarke Griffin, who had come up to meet him.

Although Bellamy had not appreciated Mr. Jordan’s attempts at flirting with his sister, the boy seemed harmless enough. It aided his peace of mind to know that however much his sister enjoyed flattery, she was very genuinely attached to her sweetheart back home, and he did not think Mr. Jordan was the sort of man to tempt her to break her promise of not marrying any man she met in London.

No, the problem was Miss Griffin, who looked down on them from the moment they were shown into the room.

Before Mrs. Aurora Blake had won the heart of a gentleman who, though not rich, had been able to provide a comfortable life for his family, she had managed to scrape a living for herself and her son by working as a seamstress. She taught Bellamy many skills for survival in those early years, but it was the sewing that became most useful when the Blakes lost their previous comforts—the modest estate entailed away to a distant cousin since Bellamy had not been born into the Blake family—as he was able to earn a steady income working as a tailor.

His occupation meant the Blake siblings dressed in a higher degree of fashion than their means would generally allow, but from the moment he felt Miss Clarke Griffin’s cool blue eyes on him, Bellamy had the sense she saw right through their fine garments.

He immediately noted that she was a very wealthy woman; the fine fabrics of her day gown were deceptively simple, the kind of purchase that required so much money one didn’t have to advertise it through more ornate materials. But the cloth that made up Mr. Jaha’s suit was just as fine, and their host had been nothing but gracious, despite the Blakes dripping rather inelegantly onto his father’s carpet.

Bellamy had bowed as well as he could in his bedraggled state when Mr. Jaha made the requisite introductions and explained the situation to his friends.

“A broken carriage?” Miss Griffin said, more to Mr. Jaha than the sufferers. “How dreadful.”

Her tone did not sit well with Bellamy, nor did the steely glint to her eyes. But at least Mr. Jordan’s affirmation, “Dreadful indeed to be caught in this weather,” sounded genuine. “Where were you headed?” he inquired.

“To London. It is our first trip,” Octavia said, the enthusiasm for their journey not quelled by their mishap. If anything, after the damp walk from the carriage, she seemed revived by their new location; though small, the house was furnished to a higher standard than any they had set foot in previously and Octavia’s eyes roamed the room with unmistakeable pleasure.

This did not go unnoticed by Miss Griffin, whose look seemed to turn calculating, even—dare he say it—menacing. The two gentlemen spoke next, expressing their sympathy that such a mishap should befall them on their inaugural trip to the capital, but Bellamy’s eyes remained trained on Miss Griffin who he felt had taken a sudden dislike to his sister.

He initially supposed that perhaps she resented Octavia’s presence, for she must have been enjoying the undivided attention of her companions until their arrival. Possibly, they had disrupted an attempted conquest—but her manner with both gentlemen was more like that of a sister than a lady trying to catch a husband.

If she felt his gaze on her countenance she made no acknowledgement, however, as the Blakes continued to answer the gentlemen’s polite questions about their trip. Bellamy felt it best to keep his answers vague, saying only they were going to be guests of a family friend; though her responses were more effusive than his, Octavia followed her brother’s example in not supplying unnecessary information that would make their very different situation in life to the rest of the company even more obvious.

Although Miss Griffin reacted to the conversation, she did not deign to speak directly to either of the siblings, irritation seeping under Bellamy’s skin faster than the moisture soaking through his clothes. He was surprised when she finally said, “It is very kind of you, Mr. Blake, to act as chaperone to your sister on this inaugural trip. I am sure most of the gentlemen in my acquaintance would not be so generous with their time.”

Although her words were charitable, her tone was decidedly not. Her use of the word ‘gentlemen’ rankled Bellamy the most, for the combination of her delivery and the narrowing of her eyes made him certain that she knew he did not fall into that category.

His usually sharp tongue failed him and it was left to his sister to say that Bellamy was her guardian. Miss Griffin’s eyes seemed to narrow even further and Bellamy was unsure whether to be relieved or disgruntled when they were led from the front parlour to private rooms where fires had been lit so they could dry off before he could form a suitable retort.

Bellamy made his concerns about Miss Griffin known to his sister, but she immediately dismissed him, assuming it came from his innate prejudice against the upper classes. He thought his feelings had some merit; given the way he had been treated all of his life, he had plenty of experience to draw from, but knew better than to re-engage in an old argument when they so urgently needed to dry and warm themselves.

However, when Bellamy had seen to this task and was on the verge of returning to the parlour, the cracked door allowed him to overhear a conversation between Mr. Jaha and Miss Griffin that enlightened him as to the lady’s true feelings. 

This was the other—more significant—circumstance that led to Bellamy’s declaration of her vexatious nature.

“Honestly, Wells,” he heard her voice filter through the door, “you are too kind for your own good.”

“You cannot say you would have left two people outside in this weather in a broken carriage.”

“A broken carriage!” she scoffed. “As if no one’s ever tried to get you with that one before? Hmmm?” she prompted in the face of silence.

Her friend let out an audible sigh. “I will admit that similar excuses have been used in my presence in the past, but never when the weather was actually this bad. And it has always been by ladies in my acquaintance, or at least their mamas have known my father. I can’t believe a stranger would have such a plan.”

“So modest. Do you believe the Jahas aren’t known in Yorkshire? You underestimate the allure of your fortune to scheming mamas—or in, in this case, an older brother trying to see his charge suitably wed.”

Bellamy’s jaw clenched.

“Really, Clarke,” came Wells’ reply, though he still sounded somewhat amused. “You are too cynical.”

“And you are too trusting. Take my word for it,” she said decisively. “They are a pair of fortune hunters, and marriage will be mentioned before the night is out.”

He knew that a good man would have ignored this criticism and held his tongue quietly until they parted ways. Certainly, he felt he likely owed that much to Mr. Jaha, who had so generously insisted they join the trio for dinner before his own coach conveyed the Blakes to their inn.

Bellamy, however, did not consider himself a very good man.

Therefore, when they sat down to dinner not half an hour later and Mr. Jordan inquired as to their hopes for their first visit to London, Bellamy found himself responding, “Marriage is, naturally, the first priority.”

He had managed to appraise his sister of his plan—stepping away from the parlour doors just before Mr. Jordan could have noticed him as he came out of the study and dashing upstairs where he declared Miss Griffin utterly vexing to Octavia and immediately related his idea for retaliation—so she did not react to this very out of character statement.

Mr. Jordan merely nodded, but Miss Griffin very pointedly remarked, “Of course.” Her sly gaze slid across the table to Mr. Jaha, whose own eyes had remained decisively on his plate.

“Yes,” Bellamy said, continuing with his careless tone. “If only we can find a way to weed out the fortune hunters.”

Octavia hid an amused smile behind her napkin. Mr. Jaha’s knife clacked sharply against his plate, but he continued chewing in an admirable attempt at maintaining his composure. Mr. Jordan did not hide his interest in this revelation.

It was Miss Griffin whose interest he had wanted to gain, though, and for the first time that evening, she turned her entire body towards him, as if to bestow Bellamy her undivided attention.

“The fortune hunters?” she repeated, a dangerous sparkle in her eyes.

“Yes. You see, my sister and I have a rather extraordinary inheritance between us from an old family friend, and I am very much concerned that Octavia will attract the wrong sort of suitors because of it. Oh, perhaps I have said too much,” he continued, full of false humility, “but I am sure you can all be trusted to keep this between ourselves.”

“Of course,” Mr. Jaha murmured, a sentiment Mr. Jordan agreed to most vehemently.

Miss Griffin kept her eyes on Bellamy as she lifted her glass. “I would not _dream_ of spreading such news.”

“We are much obliged. I’m sure a lady such as yourself must have faced a similar problem when you were first introduced.”

“Indeed I did,” Miss Griffin replied with great cheer. “Though I soon found that once my suitors became better acquainted with my personality, my money was no longer quite so enticing.”

This made Mr. Jaha laugh while Mr. Jordan shook his head.

“Now, Clarke,” he said. “Everyone in London knows you have left a trail of broken hearts in your wake.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Jasper,” she said, all exaggerated innocence.

“I don’t think I could count the number of gentlemen you turned down before the rest became too afraid to ask you!”

“I think you have enjoyed scaring them off all these years,” Mr. Jaha said.

“How ungallant you both are in front of our guests,” Clarke said, still wearing an amused smile. “But, never fear,” she continued, looking down the table to the siblings, “I am certain the charming Miss Blake will not suffer the same fate as I.”

Octavia, having held back her laughter at Bellamy’s jest with great effort, was now forced to join the conversation, endeavouring to act the role of secret heiress her brother had cast her in. Although she worried about her performance, her genuine enthusiasm for her first visit to London as well as her youthful good looks meant none of the company saw anything wanting in _her_ companionship.

Indeed, between Mr. Jaha, Mr. Jordan and Miss Blake, the conversation could have continued quite happily on the various sights and pleasures of London for the entirety of the meal. Had it not been for the remainder of the party insisting on trading pointed remarks at each other about the Blakes’ supposed wealth at regular intervals, perhaps it would have. When Octavia spoke of admiring the latest fashions, Bellamy had to let their companions know that Octavia would of course be getting an entirely new wardrobe, for which money would be no object—resulting in Miss Griffin offering to write a recommendation for her modiste in a sickly sweet tone that grated Bellamy’s ears. When Mr. Jordan suggested Miss Blake must be looking forward to her first London ball, Miss Griffin said with apparent nonchalance that surely Mr. Blake must be planning to throw a lavish affair for his sister—to which Bellamy humbly replied he would not want to draw attention to their riches, but would naturally be guided by the friend hosting them in London.

This back and forth persisted, Mr. Blake and Miss Griffin’s initial overly polite attentions slowly degrading into thinly veiled scowls, until the time came for the siblings to depart. No sooner had Mr. Jaha’s carriage door closed upon them did Bellamy not only reiterate his earlier assertion regarding Miss Griffin’s vexatious qualities, but concluded his speech by stating a strong desire to never interact with the lady again.

For her part, Octavia—though decidedly less pleased with Miss Griffin’s reserved manner than the genteel chivalry of Mr. Jaha and the open friendliness of Mr. Jordan—did not think the lady had warranted such censure, but she knew better than to argue with her brother when he was in such a mood. She tried to console him with the thought that since Miss Griffin gave herself such an air of importance, they were not very likely to cross her path at all in London.

Bellamy saw the truth in his sister’s remark, and therefore his astonishment was all the greater when, the following evening—after the Blakes had been safely transported in their mended carriage from Grantham to Mr. Kane’s home in London—the gentleman informed the siblings that he had left the chief responsibility of first introducing Miss Blake into society with his dear friend Mrs. Abigail Griffin.

Unable to hide the choked expression on his face, Bellamy was forced to explain, with a valiant attempt at passing off his paleness as mere surprise, that they had met a Miss Clarke Griffin on their journey and he was curious to know whether there was any relation.

His worst fears were confirmed when Mr. Kane’s face lit up as he said, “You met Clarke!”

Octavia grinned broadly, leaning back on the elegant chaise she had chosen to perch on in the blue sitting room. “You do know her, then.”

His sister, who had been very pleased by what they had seen of London from the carriage and by the stylish furnishings of Mr. Kane’s rooms, was the most excited he had seen her since they left their village.

“Why yes,” he confirmed eagerly. “I’ve known Clarke since she was a little girl. She is Abby’s daughter.”

“Her daughter!” Octavia repeated, sounding delighted.

Mr. Kane smiled. Unable to decipher the quick look that passed between the siblings, he happily assumed the two girls had become fast friends and never dreamed Miss Blake’s cheerfulness was derived solely from amusement at her brother’s predicament.

“Isn’t that wonderful, Bellamy?” she said.

“Yes,” he responded tightly. “Just wonderful.”

“However did you meet Clarke?”

This led them into the story of the rainstorm, which Octavia took over telling, allowing Bellamy some time to bury his true feelings about the lady Mr. Kane was clearly attached to.

He found his tongue by the end of the story, at which point he inquired, “Mr. Kane, when you say you have asked Mrs. Griffin to introduce Octavia into London society—pray, what exactly will that entail?”

“Of course, I should have explained,” he replied. Mr. Kane went on to tell the siblings that though such a task would normally include acting as Octavia’s escort around town, Mrs. Griffin was a very busy woman and therefore another friend, a Mrs. Indra Porter and her unmarried daughter Gaia, would assist. However, what he had entrusted to Mrs. Griffin was the very important task of hosting a small dinner party where they would be introduced to the best of London society. “Abby is much more knowledgeable than I on such matters. She has done the same very successfully for a number of girls with only a modest fortune who have found good suitors in their first season.”

“Though her own daughter is unmarried?”

“Not from lack of trying on Abby’s part, I assure you,” Mr. Kane replied with a rueful smile. “Clarke is just as strong-willed as her mother, I’m afraid. She insists that as she already has more fortune than she will ever know what to do with and her father’s estates were all willed to her, she has no need to marry. And how can I argue with that? I have benefited from a similar situation myself. But many ladies are not as lucky as Clarke,” he said, with a sympathetic glance at Octavia.

Though Octavia had no intention of marrying rich in London, she nodded demurely. She must have practiced, for Bellamy had never seen her act so prim before.

Mr. Kane’s comment, though unsurprising, alerted Bellamy to another concern. As far as Bellamy had told Miss Griffin, Octavia was in much the same position as she was—if only from a fortune aspect as he had not said anything about property. But if her mother was organising this party, then surely she would find out the truth very soon—if indeed she had not known as he spoke?

“Sir,” Bellamy began, clearing his throat nervously, “may I ask what you told Mrs. Griffin about our… situation?”

“I told her Octavia is the child of my old school friend, and you are her brother.” He paused here, clearly studying Bellamy’s reaction to the omission of his parentage from the conversation. It was no less than Bellamy had expected, so he nodded.

“And no other particulars?”

Mr. Kane hesitated again. “In London, you will find it best not to give too much information if you can avoid it. Best to preserve some of the mystery.”

Octavia had clearly had enough of dancing around the subject. “So you did not tell her we are your charity case.”

Bellamy held back a snort as Mr. Kane coloured, clearly taken aback by Octavia’s frankness for all it was still delivered in that sweet tone she had adopted in his presence.

“Not a charity case, my dear. I am very happy to have you, I only– It was many years ago, but your father’s quitting London to settle permanently with your mother in Yorkshire caused a bit of a stir at the time.” Mr. Kane did not say that this was because their mother already had a child out of wedlock, but he did not need to. “I think enough time has passed that the few who do remember will not draw attention to it, but it is best not to make these things too plain.”

“And we are very grateful for your generosity,” Bellamy replied, with a pointed look to his sister.

“Of course,” Octavia replied. An awkward silence hung in the air though, broken by Octavia a minute later saying, perhaps with her first genuine smile since they had entered the grand house, “I truly am very happy to be in London.”

Mr. Kane brightened then. “Good good.”

He began regaling Octavia with stories of all the things she might see in London, which she was most happy to hear and had many questions. Bellamy joined in occasionally, but was glad not to be necessary to the conversation, his mind too occupied by his own folly at having lied to someone of such a close acquaintance to their benefactor. At least he could be satisfied that Mr. Kane’s circumspection meant their secret was safe; Miss Griffin and the two gentlemen would not know the truth. And if she learned of some of their past from her mother, she had no way of knowing it was not also true that after all that, a family friend had left them an inheritance.

The only problem he could foresee was Mr. Kane learning of Bellamy’s lie—a rather significant problem, admittedly. For though the man appeared very amiable, their acquaintance was not intimate enough for Bellamy to be assured of his temper. He was good-humoured certainly, but he doubted he would view such behaviour charitably. Why, even if they had been in receipt of a great inheritance, Mr. Kane would doubtless think it vulgar to have discussed the matter so openly with strangers. Octavia would never forgive him if Mr. Kane cut their visit short and sent them back to Yorkshire because of a rash comment he had made—and neither would Bellamy forgive himself.

* * *

Apart from this niggling concern, the first few days of their visit passed pleasantly enough. Mrs. Indra Porter and her daughter were not at all the fancy society ladies Bellamy and Octavia had expected to meet and their frank, open manners won them favour with both siblings as they escorted them about London—which did indeed include buying Octavia a vast amount of new clothing, though Bellamy was relieved that the dressmaker Mrs. Porter took them to was not the one Miss Griffin had recommended. They did not see much of Mr. Kane during these early days apart from their first and last mealtimes. Occasionally, he paid visits to a gentlemen’s club, but largely he was absent owing to his work as a barrister, and when he suggested the possibility of Bellamy joining him in the future, he was happy to accept. He had no fears about leaving Octavia to be chaperoned by the formidable Mrs. Porter.

As much as Mr. Kane said he wished it, they were not able to meet Mrs. Griffin until the night of the dinner party, when—despite being the guests of honour—they arrived after the majority, which was apparently fashionable. When the lady greeted them alone at the top of the steps, making apologies for her daughter who was busy entertaining some guests, Bellamy decided the unsettled feeling in his stomach was merely concern at delaying the inevitable meeting and wishing it was over already so he would know for certain if Miss Griffin would maintain her promise. Additionally, there was the strange unease he felt wearing the first of his new, London-made jackets. He had looked for something to complain about upon receiving it—only internally, he was not going to tell off the workers for no reason—but the stitching was immaculate. The green cloth fitted his figure well and he looked very smart, even if he felt out of place. Perhaps that was a result of leaving his mother’s small sewing pouch, which he had taken to carrying in his old jacket, at home—but its familiar weight would be merely for comfort. It was far too late to make any alteration to his ensemble.

Although she smiled more freely, Bellamy felt that Mrs. Griffin was no less formidable than Mrs. Porter; when Mr. Kane noted she was playing host to a far larger party than he had expected, she quickly decried his speech as nonsense and ushered them into the house, taking charge of Octavia and Bellamy and introducing them to seemingly everyone apart from the few faces in London he might have recognised.

During this tour of the room, Bellamy could not but notice that Mr. Kane’s observation had merit. There really were a great many people in attendance—far too many for the “small dinner party” he had described. However, Bellamy simply assumed that Mrs. Griffin’s idea of a small party was different to his and Mr. Kane’s, until half an hour later when the man took him aside.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Kane?” Having been led to an alcove to the side of the grand staircase. upstairs and well away from everyone else, he couldn’t help but worry about what would require such privacy.

“Bellamy, well—“ Mr. Kane stopped and glanced away, confirming they were alone. The sheepish expression he wore looked out of place on his face. “Mrs. Griffin is concerned that the reason we have such a large party tonight is— Well, people seem to be under the impression that Miss Blake is a great heiress. And that you as well have an inheritance.”

Bellamy blinked, attempting to school his reaction. “Ah.”

It seemed that Mrs. Griffin had indeed attempted to keep her party small as requested, but over the course of the week, she had inexplicably received innumerable requests to attend the party. Much interest was shown in meeting the young Miss Blake and her brother. She had not seen reason to turn away any eager guests, but the actual number in attendance had taken even her by surprise until she had just overheard some mamas discussing the Blakes’ apparent fortune. Mr. Kane continued, “I did not think it right to tell her the true state of affairs—especially given…” A glance back through the open doorway to the sizeable crowd was all that was needed to punctuate this statement.

“So what did you tell her?”

“I said I believed you and Miss Blake were very comfortably situated in Yorkshire—and that my invitation to you both was borne of friendship and not financial necessity.”

Bellamy almost smiled at the effort Mr. Kane put in to tell a truth in such a particular way as to suggest a lie. It was clearly a finely honed skill.

“I believe she was satisfied by that.”

“And you don’t think she will see it as confirmation that Octavia really is a great heiress?”

“Mrs. Griffin is much too proper to gossip about such matters. She will neither deny nor confirm the rumours.”

“Surely though, if they are directly spoken of in her company and she does not deny them, her confirmation is implicit?”

“We would not want her to deny the rumours,” he replied with haste. “That would be much worse. If people think your sister has a great inheritance, and Abby were to say decidedly that was _not_ the case, it would likely spread in the other direction, People might think you are considerably worse off than you are. It would not only damage Miss Blake’s prospects of marrying well, but yours as well.”

The man looked so concerned that part of Bellamy wanted to admit marriage was not an overriding concern for either him or Octavia. But it did not seem the right time to admit Octavia was all but promised to a stable hand, and was only waiting for Mr. Lincoln Woods to earn enough to afford a wife, while Bellamy had no thoughts of marriage at present—and certainly doubted any wife he found in London would suit him.

“I did not think my prospects of marrying well were very high to begin with,” Bellamy admitted.

Mr. Kane flushed. “Yes, I am afraid the circumstances of your birth will rule out more members of the ton for you than your sister. But Thomas gave you his name, and you being my guest does have some weight, you know.”

“And some people might be inclined to overlook my birth if they think I have a great inheritance,” Bellamy said, suddenly realising exactly why so many ladies had been so happy to make his acquaintance.

“It appears quite a few,” Mr. Kane agreed, his face twisting. Noting Bellamy’s serious look, he continued, “I would not worry too much. You have only just arrived in London. You and your sister both have time to make an appropriate match that would not care for your money. It may be that Miss Blake will draw the attention of a man rich enough that her lack is no consideration. And as I said in my letter, I would be happy to settle a sum upon her. It may not be the riches of a great heiress, but to a man in love, it will be more than enough, I’m sure.”

Bellamy knew he ought to respond most gratifyingly to Mr. Kane’s assurances, for they were more than generous—and he did try his best. But it so happened that while he was doing so, Miss Clarke Griffin—hitherto unseen by him that evening—chose to descend the staircase.

As his back faced it, Mr. Kane’s gaze did not waver, and he commented idly, “I just can’t think how this whole rumour started.”

It was then that Miss Griffin caught Bellamy’s gaze and bestowed on him the most infuriating, self-satisfied smile he had ever seen. 

Bellamy’s reply was delivered between ground teeth. “It is a mystery.”

* * *

It was plain to Bellamy that Miss Griffin had been the source of the rumours. How he should retaliate was less clear. As a result of the great number of guests, he never did have a tête-à-tête with her that evening—their only discourse a brief greeting when her mother was by her side—but he caught her gaze from across the room a number of times, and she always had the most damned smirk on her face. The look usually made him exert more effort into maintaining a pleasant conversation with whichever ladies he was speaking—for with the exception of Mr. Jasper Jordan and Mr. Wells Jaha’s father, it was invariably ladies and their mamas who sought his acquaintance.

In the past, Bellamy had enjoyed charming young ladies and even thought he had been quite good at it, until he had become Octavia’s guardian and since then had no time for such frivolity. However, it was difficult to enjoy the attention of even the prettiest of ladies when he knew they would likely turn their noses up at him if they had known he was really a village tailor with a very modest income.

There was little time for planning comeuppance on such a busy evening, but an idea came to him by unusual means the following morning in the form of a delivery for Octavia—that is, a rather staggering number of deliveries of floral arrangements.

“It seems you made quite an impression on your many admirers, Octavia,” Bellamy observed, smelling the latest bouquet. He had noticed that she had been quite the favourite with many, though he hadn’t been concerned the sentiment was returned considering she did not stay long with the more florid admirers, content to hear one compliment and send them on their way.

That so many could have thought that enough attention to warrant sending her a bouquet was what worried him.

“I can’t say I’m not flattered, but it is a little ridiculous,” Octavia replied, idly twirling a rose between her fingers. “I would have much preferred a dagger.”

“I fear tens of blades might have been harder to explain to our host than tens of bouquets.”

“Very true. Though I’m not sure how we should explain all the flowers either,” Octavia said. “I’m sure he is too polite to say it, but when Mr. Kane returns home, he will think it very odd that so many men wish to pay such a marked attention to a penniless orphan.”

“You are not _penniless_ ,” Bellamy insisted, though her speech made him recall that he had not enlightened his sister as to the conversation he’d had with Mr. Kane last night.

She listened easily, but did not seem entirely satisfied. “Well, I suppose it is a relief that he already knows. But do you not think he might be concerned if he realises just how wild the rumours must be for me to receive so much attention already? Perhaps it would be best to ask the servants to get rid of them all before he comes home this evening.”

“All of them?” Bellamy said.

“You know I’m not fond of these kinds of flowers. And I’m not attached to any of the men who sent them either. It means nothing to me.”

“Still, you can’t get rid of them _all_. Some of the men may call on you, and they will be slighted if their flowers aren’t on display.”

Octavia made a sour face. “I’m sure we could get rid of most and no one would notice. So many are similar, and I can’t imagine any took the time to choose the arrangement themselves.”

The wheels began turning for Bellamy. “Perhaps we could make the flowers someone else’s problem.”

“How do you mean?”

“As it is Miss Griffin’s fault that we have all these flowers on our hands, why not send them on to her?” he said, already moving further down the room as best he could while navigating the sea of bouquets.

“How are you so certain that it was Miss Griffin? More than one servant came to the table to serve us at dinner. Any one of them could have heard us talking and come back to London with Mr. Jaha and spread the tale. His father said he had returned even though he was unable to attend last night.”

Bellamy had not considered that. It was certainly possible, but it seemed unlikely when the servants were only intermittently at the table; they would have needed to overhear very specific details and also spread the news between houses very quickly. Besides, that did not account for the most important fact: “You did not see the looks she gave me. So impertinent.”

“If anyone has been impertinent, it was you, Bellamy, in daring to tell a lady of such consequence that we are so much richer than we are.”

“I have already told you the rude things she said about us in Grantham. And if you had heard the tone she used!”

“I believe you, brother—but they were clearly not remarks meant for our ears.”

“It is not like you to approve of such falseness, Octavia,” Bellamy noted.

“I have no desire to be friends with her, Bellamy, but she showed as much civility as etiquette required. There is no need for the matter to go any further.”

“And so I would have agreed with you, had she not spread that which I expressly said must be kept secret. Therefore, to solve two problems at once, I can think of nothing better than to send most of these to Miss Griffin. She will have some explaining to do at her home, I am sure.”

Octavia studied her brother carefully. “Bellamy, am I to understand that your form of revenge on Miss Griffin is to send her an unreasonable amount of flowers?”

“Yes!”

She let out a short bark of laughter. “Some might say that sounds more like romance than revenge.”

Bellamy felt his cheeks grow hot. “Don’t be ridiculous, Octavia.”

“I hardly think I am the one who has been ridiculous, but I must defer to the wisdom of your advanced years, brother.”

Octavia’s amused tone made Bellamy all the more determined to give further explanation. “As you said, this amount of flowers will be hard to explain. And it will be even harder for Miss Griffin who, by her own admission, has long scared off all possible suitors.”

He left the room to make arrangements for the redelivery of the flowers, not waiting long enough to hear his sister mutter, “Apparently not all of them.”


	2. Chapter 2

In many respects, Bellamy was glad that Mr. Kane had entrusted the day-to-day tasks of overseeing the Blakes’ time in London to Mrs. Porter, leaving only the one dinner to Mrs. Griffin’s purview, for it meant he would not be forced to spend more time with her daughter.

But despite not wishing to cross paths with Miss Griffin more than was strictly necessary, he was desirous of knowing how she had reacted to her surprise delivery.

Mr. Kane had instructed a manservant to do “whatever Mr. Blake asked”, and though Bellamy was certain the boy didn’t have any expectation that might entail a secretive delivery of so many flowers, a slight raise of his eyebrows at the request was his only reaction before seeing that the task was performed swiftly.

On the afternoon that the flowers were delivered, their only plans were to visit some of the shops in town, and though they met some of their new acquaintances, none seemed likely to give him intelligence of Miss Griffin. The following day, some of Octavia’s admirers called on them—as Octavia had predicted, none had known enough of their bouquets to spot any differences—and although Mr. Jordan was among their visitors, when asked of the Griffins, he only said he had not seen Clarke since the dinner party before turning his conversation to the next gathering they were all invited to; one to be held next week by the Braggs.

Bellamy repeated the same inquiry to Mr. Kane at dinner—disguising his true interest as kind thoughts towards Mrs. Abigail Griffin for her efforts—but the man only gratefully replied that they were well as far as he knew, though he had not had the pleasure of seeing them since the party himself.

Thus, Bellamy was forced to wait another three days before he could see Miss Griffin in person and ascertain her response to his prank. The note he had sent with the flowers had been cryptic, but whatever her other faults, she was certainly sharp enough to decipher that the delivery was from him. If he could not know her immediate response, he was curious to see how she would react when they next met.

As he arrived at the Bragg household with Octavia, Mr. Kane and the Porters, he suddenly thought to be nervous. There was a possibility that Miss Griffin would choose to respond by throwing a drink in his face. Given her family’s standing, that would not only be a mark against him, but likely smear Octavia’s character as well. However, he was sure that whatever her attitude towards him, she would not wish to harm Mr. Kane’s reputation, and she did not seem the type to cause such a public scene.

No, any snub or set down from Miss Griffin would be more subtle, but the certainty of that did not set him at ease.

Neither did the delay of their meeting, for once again he seemed to spend the first hour of the gathering greeting everyone—specifically, every eligible lady and her mother—aside from her.

Shortly before dinner, _Mrs._ Griffin sought out his company and asked how he was enjoying London, but though she confirmed her daughter was in attendance, he did not catch sight of Miss Griffin until she entered the dining room, only to be seated at quite the other end of the table from him.

It was common to seat families and married couples apart from each other at such events and allow the guests to mingle, but Bellamy had thought he would be seated if not by Mr. Kane as Mrs. Griffin had placed him, then near to one of the Porters, his close acquaintances being so limited in London. Instead, Bellamy found himself sat next to Miss Roma Bragg, the chairs on her other side and opposite them filled solely by young bachelors, while the majority of other young ladies in attendance were sat beside older or married folk.

He managed to catch his sister’s eye down the table, and they shared a fleeting smirk as they realised their host’s intention simultaneously. A glance beyond her showed that Miss Griffin had already begun a conversation with Mr. Thelonious Jaha on her left.

Miss Bragg did not allow Bellamy’s attention to wander so far from her for long, and soon enough, Bellamy was required to listen intently to her description of the new bonnet she had bought that morning, and how she longed to wear it on an outing; perhaps a drive through Hyde Park would be a perfect location? This was as strong a hint as Bellamy had ever heard, but either all their companions were daft or none had any interest in courting Miss Bragg, for the mention of Hyde Park caused Lord Daxton to reflect on a business opportunity very close to the park.

The gates to this topic of conversation now open, the other three men all began mentioning various business ventures they had an interest in, which surprised Bellamy. He did not think it common for gentlemen to have business ventures and stranger still to discuss them so frankly in front of someone with whom they were so little acquainted. Furthermore, Bellamy did not think this was the way to Miss Bragg’s heart. Though her eyes sparkled at some of the boasts of potential high yields to be gained, her attention waned when they discussed the finer details, and she began to stab her peas sadly.

Although Bellamy had no interest in courting Miss Bragg—nor did he think his suit would be welcome were the truth of his supposed fortune known—his immunity to a sullen look on a pretty girl countenance’s was far lower than his resistance to a happy one, and he made some valiant efforts at redirecting the conversation towards more general subjects that could be enjoyed by all. However, these attempts never lasted long, someone always bringing the discussion back not only to their business interests, but specifically requiring his opinion on them.

He had initially believed that this was perhaps an attempt at friendship—a strange one in his opinion, but he was still learning the ways of the ton; perhaps men of wealth sought to make other wealthy friends by citing the figures and interest predictions of their ventures. It was only after dinner that he discovered the truth.

When the men and women separated after the meal, Bellamy intended to approach Mr. Jordan, who had been seated near Octavia and Gaia at dinner, and was currently in deep discussion with another young man about his age that Bellamy had not yet been acquainted with. However, Mr. Finn Collins, who had sat opposite him at dinner, did not leave his side. He continued to talk about his business, finally stopping when they were by the mantlepiece to say, “Well? What do you think?”

“It sounds very interesting,” Bellamy said, though he could hardly remember the particulars Mr. Collins had just related after the glut of information he’d sat through.

“So, you would like to invest?”

“Invest?” Bellamy repeated.

“Yes. As I said, you stand to make an excellent profit,” Mr. Collins said eagerly.

Finally, Bellamy felt clarity descend, illuminating the strange conversation he had sat through all dinner. The men had all taken the opportunity to impress him with their business ventures, hoping they would receive an influx of capital. He was aware some men of fortune chose to invest in such a manner, though why they had all been so certain Bellamy would was still a source of confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he said in as even a tone as he could manage, “but I’m not looking to make any investments at this moment in time.”

Mr. Collins frowned. “Really? I had it on good authority that you were!”

“On whose authority?”

“Oh, well, I believe she did not want me to say,” Mr. Collins began, but the _she_ told Bellamy all he needed to know.

Miss Clarke Griffin had received Bellamy’s flowers and decided to play a prank of her own.

“Although,” Mr. Collins continued, oblivious to the realisation dawning on Bellamy’s face, “I was not aware that she would give the tip to Daxton and Myles and the others as well. Still, she insisted you were interested,” he said, now studying Bellamy suspiciously. “Are you fobbing me off? If you don’t like my plan, you can give it to me straight.”

“That is not it at all,” Bellamy began.

“You think you could improve it? Get a better return on your investment?”

“No, I—“ Bellamy tried again, but it was in vain. Mr. Collins had taken his pocketbook out of his jacket and was showing Bellamy the figures to prove the numbers. “Your figures look very good,” Bellamy insisted, though he did not understand enough to be certain, “but as I said, I have no plans to make further investments at this time.”

“You’re not just saying that and then going to invest in someone else?” Mr. Collins asked. “Let me tell you, whatever Daxton says, he’s got no head for money. Why do you think a lord with his estate needs to look into business ventures, hmmm? Gambling debts, that’s why.”

Despite Bellamy’s assurances that he was not going to put his money into anyone’s scheme, Mr. Collins was not satisfied until he had thoroughly disparaged Lord Daxton’s character and had begun on Lord Myles Ryland when they were interrupted by another man calling to Mr. Blake.

Assuming it was another person with a business interest, he tried to keep his features in a polite mask, something it appeared he was practicing often in London society, but was pleasantly surprised.

“Mr. Jordan,” he said with relief as the man and his friend approached them, genuinely glad to see a friendly face.

Mr. Jordan introduced both Bellamy and Mr. Collins to his companion, Mr. Monty Green, an old friend from university. The affable Mr. Jordan wanted to know how Bellamy was enjoying London, and as Mr. Green had only moved to London a few months ago himself, the pair had many similar tales. The interruption was therefore doubly pleasing, for it both lost Mr. Collins’ interest and he soon detached himself from their group, but it also meant Bellamy made the acquaintance of another young man who seemed to find himself as much an outsider in London as Bellamy did.

Perhaps having received the same guidance as Bellamy had from Mr. Kane, Mr. Green left details about his personal circumstances vague, but the fact that he was apparently permanently living with Mr. Jordan and his parents suggested that he was not a rich man, even if he must have once had the funds to attend Oxford University alongside his friend. His clothes were more muted tones than Mr. Jordan’s peacock colours and reflected past season’s styles, but they were well-made and of fine cloth.

Once the whole party was brought together again, Mr. Jordan expressed his desire to head to the card table—a location Bellamy noticed Lord Daxton was the first to dash to—but Bellamy was never one for gambling even before frugality had made that avoidance a necessity. Although Mr. Kane had furnished him with funds he could use for just such a purpose, he could not change the habit of a lifetime. Thankfully, Mr. Green had no inclination for cards either, so the two men continued their conversation, which Bellamy greatly enjoyed. Mr. Green had not the excitability of his friend, but he was very amiable, with a sharper wit and many interesting stories related to his work as a scientist, and most thankfully, he never once seemed inclined to ask Bellamy for any funding.

A familiar laugh from across the room distracted Bellamy at one point, and he frowned when he noticed Mr. Collins hanging over Octavia and Gaia. Bellamy didn’t think he was the sort of boy to turn Octavia’s eye, but didn’t have to worry for long as Mrs. Porter’s severe stare soon saw Mr. Collins avert his attention to Miss Bragg.

His new friend looked curious as to Bellamy’s distraction, so he pointed out his sister amongst the crowd.

Mr. Green’s ruffled brow smoothed in understanding. “Ah, I see. Well, at least it does not seem like Mr. Collins is bothering her anymore.”

“I thought you did not know him?”

“I had not made his acquaintance before tonight, but I know him by reputation,” Mr. Green admitted.

This was not what Bellamy expected to hear, but though he longed to know more, the man’s gaze had drifted, and Bellamy could tell he no longer had his attention.

His lips immediately curled into an even deeper frown than even Mr. Collins had earned when he noted the object of Mr. Green’s gaze: Miss Clarke Griffin.

She was engaged in animated conversation, oblivious to any attention she might have drawn. Indeed, in her pale pink gown, she was quite simply dressed in comparison to many of the other ladies like Miss Bragg and even Octavia, who had chosen flamboyant styles for the dresses she’d had made in London—the kind of frippery there was no need for back home, not that Bellamy would have been willing to pay for it had there been occasion. Despite that, Bellamy felt Miss Griffin was the kind of woman it was hard to turn one’s gaze from. There was an elegance about her that did not come from her wardrobe.

What a shame she was so arrogant.

“Do you know that young lady, Mr. Blake?”

He managed to respond with a succinct, “Yes.”

“I think she is the most beautiful lady in all of London.”

It took some effort for Bellamy to disguise the scowl that threatened his lips in response. “Her countenance is not displeasing,” he admitted finally, “but she is most unpleasant company.”

Mr. Green looked astonished. “Why, I found her to be the sweetest, kindest woman I have ever met.”

Bellamy, in turn, could not hide his amazement. “I thought her to be completely disagreeable.”

Mr. Green seemed positively offended. “I am sure Miss McIntyre would never be disagreeable without provocation.”

“Miss— Who?” Bellamy blurted out.

After a few words, the gentlemen realised their misunderstanding.

“I own I have not had the pleasure of Miss McIntyre’s acquaintance.” Bellamy glanced over to the ladies again and this time did note Miss Griffin companion was quite pretty: her hair was coiffed in one of the more intricate styles he had seen without being gaudily decorated, though he could not appreciate its effect as she kept turning her head to steal glances in their direction. “I think she must be talking about you.”

Mr. Green looked equally pleased and embarrassed by this observation. “Well, I— I am not sure. Jasper introduced us, but we have only met a few times. But,” he added, suddenly, “what makes you say Miss Griffin is disagreeable? I have only spoken to her once, but she did not seem at all bad-tempered.”

Well aware that quick judgements had put him in his current position, Bellamy took a moment to consider his response. “Is she a particular friend of Miss McIntyre’s?”

“They are cousins. I believe Miss McIntyre thinks very highly of her.”

Bellamy nodded. There seemed no good reason to labour his point; Mr. Green was clearly smitten with Miss McIntyre and thus inclined to think well of her family—and of course, the girl would speak well of her cousin.

“My acquaintance with Miss Griffin is not of long standing,” Bellamy said. “Perhaps we did not cross paths on a good day.”

Mr. Green seemed satisfied by his response, and though Bellamy worried that the man might be mistaken in Miss McIntyre’s own temperament, he was soon satisfied on this point. Apparently no longer contented with mere side glances, Miss McIntyre took it upon herself to walk past them, her cousin by her side, and Mr. Green did not hesitate to strike up a conversation.

Miss McIntyre and Mr. Green only had eyes for each other, leaving Bellamy even clearer in his suspicion that the man had not paid any attention to Miss Griffin when he first met her in her cousin’s company.

That lady gave them a surprisingly fond smile, but her countenance altered when she met Bellamy’s gaze. Though her lips kept their slight upwards curl, her eyes turned calculating, giving her a smirking expression, punctuated by the beauty mark above her mouth.

“Have you been enjoying yourself this evening, Mr. Blake?” she asked brightly.

So that was the tack she had decided to take. Interesting. “Oh, immensely,” he said, trying to match her tone.

“How wonderful. I know some of the gentlemen were eager to make your acquaintance this evening, especially my old friend Mr. Collins; I am so glad the sentiment is returned.”

“Indeed. He is a very determined young man—with a great many ideas. For some reason, he thought I might be interested in a financial capacity.”

“Did he?” Now she wore an expression of such practised surprise that it was almost comical.

It was a shock to Bellamy that his first instinct was to laugh instead of sneer at the look, but he maintained his composure.

“We both are aware,” he said, bending to ensure that his speech reached only her ears, “that much of what I had hoped to keep secret is sadly well-known, but I was surprised to hear he had been so informed.”

She batted her eyes in such a way to rival any debutante. “Why, I cannot think how he came to be so misinformed.”

“No?”

She shook her head with an innocent look that reminded him of any number of times Octavia had lied to him.

“I did not say he was misinformed,” Bellamy began.

“Oh?” Her eyebrows furrowed, and he was glad to see he had shocked her. “You mean to invest in Finn’s latest scheme?”

The phrase ‘ _latest scheme’_ would not have filled him with confidence if he had.

“I have heard of some very excellent opportunities,” Bellamy replied evenly, “from Mr. Collins and others, but I find it wise not to make investment decisions so rashly after only one conversation.”

“Some might say that a wise maxim to apply to life generally,” she countered.

“Indeed,” he agreed, thinking of her judgement of himself and Octavia. “It is very true in all matters.”

“But I suppose especially when one has such a large fortune to consider.”

“Especially then,” he agreed solemnly. “I am sure you must have the same difficulties.”

“Oh, I never make any business decisions,” she said lightly. “We ladies should not concern ourselves with such matters. You know we can only think of clothes and flowers and pretty things like that.”

Her simpering tone grated on Bellamy, but before he could respond, they were interrupted.

“What nonsense, Clarke,” Miss McIntyre said, reminding Bellamy for the first time since they had been introduced that he and Miss Griffin were not alone in their corner by the fireplace. “Clarke has an excellent head for numbers,” she continued, glancing between the gentlemen.

“You are too kind, cousin. But I believe Mr. Blake thinks women are only concerned with flowers.”

Bellamy did not wilt under the rather more pointed gazes of his companions at this comment. Instead, he replied with cheer, “Not at all. Having been my sister’s sole guardian the last four years, I hope I am better educated in the feminine mind than that. Certainly, one could not forget the incident last year when her suitors started bringing her all sorts of weaponry at her express request.”

As expected, this drew laughter from the company, even Miss Griffin smiling.

However, Bellamy had not anticipated Miss McIntyre’s sudden interest in hearing the details of the incident. It was a story he enjoyed relating on the few social calls he still received back home, and as it was not one that would highlight any details of their lie, he had no qualms in repeating it now. He was halfway through the story before he realised Miss McIntyre alone was enjoying the tale.

He had perfected the telling of it in such a way to impress the young ladies back in his village, and without thinking he had reverted to the same charming style of recitation. However, as pretty as Miss McIntyre was, he had no interest in charming her. Even if she wasn’t plainly a favourite with his new acquaintance (who seemed somewhat disheartened by her enrapt attention on Bellamy).

“But,” Bellamy cleared his throat, “on the subject of flowers,” he said, though it had been many minutes now since they had been, “we should ask Mr. Green for his opinion. He is, after all, a botanist.”

He was pleased to see Miss McIntyre’s interest revert back to Mr. Green immediately, her interest far more piqued than it had been by his silly anecdote. “Oh? When Jasper said you were a scientist, I did not realise your studies related to plants.”

“Yes,” he replied, seemingly shy. “It is not very interesting though—“

“Oh, but I find it fascinating!” Miss McIntyre said brightly, her genuine interest all the more plain to Bellamy after the artifice Miss Bragg had employed in trying to seem interested in the men’s discussions at dinner.

“You do?” Mr. Green replied hopefully.

Bellamy wondered idly what the two had discussed in previous meetings to not have realised they shared this common interest, smiling as Miss McIntyre shared the name of a book she had read on the subject and Mr. Green brightly replied that it was one he had studied at university.

His gaze reverted to Miss Griffin who was watching him carefully. The sharpness in her eyes had faded somewhat, but she still seemed to be studying him—and such close observation put him ill-at-ease

However, any discomfiture soon disappeared when Mr. Jordan, who had given up on cards, returned and was swiftly assured by the two ladies that this was a sensible decision.

“Mr. Green was just telling us about some of his work,” Miss McIntyre said.

Mr. Jordan expressed how little he thought of this discussion. “Although,” he said suddenly, his eyes alighting as he turned to Miss Griffin, “I heard you received an interesting plant delivery recently, Clarke.”

Not for the first time that evening, Bellamy was immensely grateful that Mr. Jordan had decided to join his company. Miss Griffin positively scowled.

“I did not know you had enchanted so many young pups this season, Clarke, to receive hundreds of bouquets! You have been keeping secrets from us.”

“It was not hundreds—hardly anything to remark on.”

“Well—“ Miss McIntyre halted her speech when Miss Griffin directed her severe stare to her cousin. She cleared her throat, but still said with a smile, “It was not hundreds, but it was above sixty, to be sure! I have never seen so many at one time. Why, I’m sure you never received so many even when you were first out, Clarke.”

“Indeed!” Mr. Jordan said, heartily amused. “Then these latest bachelors know you as little as those did. I see, despite all your protests, you have not put your disappointing days behind you yet, Clarke.”

Clarke gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I believe the flowers did what they intended to do.” When her eyes settled on Bellamy, they had such a fleeting bite to them it was clear she knew exactly who they’d come from. He had deduced this already from her gambit with the investments, but he still enjoyed seeing the fire in her eyes, even as she masterfully banked the inferno for the benefit of the others.

“And you don’t think their intention was to court you?” Mr. Jordan said sceptically.

“I think their intention was to have a lark. Anyone can send flowers. A man truly intending to court me would know to send something less pedestrian than flowers.”

Bellamy barely had time to wonder what sort of gifts Miss Griffin might be referring to—and what gentlemen might have sent them to her—before she hastily added, “If you will excuse me, I must return to my mother,” and slid away from them.

Mr. Jordan looked quite amused, but Miss McIntyre seemed a little embarrassed, and her eyes darted between Bellamy and Mr. Green, clearly unsure as to how the two men, not knowing her cousin like Mr. Jordan, would perceive her speech. “Forgive my cousin, gentlemen. She did not mean that.”

“Oh, she did. Clarke has no intention of marrying,” Mr. Jordan said bluntly. This drew a plaintive look from Miss McIntyre, but he only shrugged. “Oh, nothing to worry about, Harper! Monty and Bellamy here are friends!”

Bellamy was unsure how he so easily brought himself into the same consideration as Mr. Green, whom Mr. Jordan had known for many years, but he was glad of it if it would bring him more gossip—particularly of the determined spinster, Miss Griffin. Of course, he had suspected as much from her comments in Grantham, but in future, it could be useful.

Miss McIntyre still looked hesitatingly between the two men, both of whom bestowed her with reassuring smiles.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I must go,” she said. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Blake, and to see you again, Mr. Green. I hope we can discuss your work more another time.”

Mr. Green was only too eager to agree.

With a curtsey, she started to move away before pausing, a faint blush on her cheeks. In a tone expressly directed to Mr. Green, she added, “After all, not all ladies share my cousin’s opinion on flowers.”

* * *

It took Bellamy some time to decide how best to retaliate on Miss Griffin.

He had not played pranks for years, and when he had, it had been with friends in the village or the men he worked with—there were some tricks one could not play on a lady of her rank.

First to determine was the location. He had already decided against organising another overblown delivery—less for the fact that the expense would fall to him this time, but because he did not want her to think he was of such limited imagination as to repeat himself. This meant he would have to play the prank in person—most likely at an evening function. Although Miss Griffin and her mother called during the day, and Octavia then returned the call with Miss Porter, Bellamy had not been present for either visit as he had started assisting Mr. Kane with his work.

Bellamy didn’t understand why, but the man seemed to have grown fond of him and had taken an interest in making sure Bellamy understood the finer details of the law. His education wasn’t near the high standard of the other men in the office, but he’d taught himself things over the years and Mr. Kane must have fancied himself something of a teacher, for he was very patient in making sure Bellamy understood much of what he did as a barrister. He could not understand why Mr. Kane did so the first few days, not until the end of the week when he asked if Bellamy would like to work under him during his time in London.

It was phrased as a suggestion but it did not feel like one to Bellamy; the man was spending so much on himself and Octavia in particular—as a tailor, Bellamy thought he had an idea of how much wealthy women spent on their wardrobes, but the spending of the fanciest ladies in Yorkshire did not hold a candle to the money London women spent on new gowns—that no matter his repeated reassurances that he owed the late Mr. Blake a debt from their youth so any financial expenditure was a trifle, Bellamy still felt he must accept. The money was starting to play on his conscience—in no small part due to the regular reminders of his own folly whenever he heard the rumours of his inheritance. At least this way, he could repay some of Mr. Kane’s generosity.

He soon found the work had other benefits than merely being a balm to his conscience. Bellamy had never liked sitting idle, and though one could never be bored in London, merely sight-seeing, visiting the shops and making calls or being called upon was far from enough occupation to fill the day of a man who had been working for his keep for four years and a significant portion before that. Researching information to support Mr. Kane’s cases might not have been his first choice of occupation, but at least it gave him some mental stimulation.

Mr. Kane had suggested that Bellamy and Octavia could visit his property in Kent while they were in London—perhaps during a quieter week so they could stay a few days and see the area. Bellamy was keen to assure their benefactor they would like to make the visit, less because he had any reason to be particularly interested in Kent itself, but he had started to miss some aspects of village life and hoped the trip might remind him of home.

However, he did not think it likely they would make such a visit anytime soon. Barely three days could go by without an invitation they could not turn down. Though they did not all meet with his disapproval—Bellamy particularly enjoyed their trips to the theatre—he would have gladly missed a few to explore another part of the world. Octavia, however, did not see the appeal of visiting somewhere she expected to be quite similar to home when there was still so much to see and do in London, and he had come for her sake, not his.

This week’s event that could not be missed was a ball given by Lady Diyoza, one of the patronesses of Almack’s. Although Mr. Kane already had an Almack’s voucher for himself, he stressed the importance that Bellamy and Octavia make a good impression on the Lady so that he could apply for theirs as well. The next ball at Almack’s was weeks away, but not to be missed if one had the opportunity, and since Lady Diyoza’s event was to be their first London ball, Octavia was doubly excited for the occasion.

Mr. Kane was pleased by her enthusiasm and took his insistence on making a good impression to the extent that he and Bellamy left the office early on the day of the ball, to give themselves plenty of time to look their best for the occasion.

Thankfully, Mr. Kane was not one of those men who thought that because he could afford the very finest carriage, he must use it for every journey, so they walked the short distance to the townhouse, which was a relief to Bellamy on a warm afternoon. As they walked, Mr. Kane took it upon himself to advise Bellamy of some of the expected behaviours at such an event, and he nodded at the information, none of which was particularly out of the ordinary.

“It seems London balls have more in common with their country cousins than one might have thought,” Bellamy observed.

Mr. Kane smiled slyly, noting the slight rebuke. “I do not mean to suggest I think you have no experience in these things.”

“I know. And I am grateful for your guidance—I would not wish to offend anyone through a silly indiscretion.”

Satisfied, Mr. Kane nodded. “I believe Indra has seen to it that you and Octavia know all the dances as well?”

“Yes; there were only a few we did not know, but with her and Gaia’s help, I think we are now experts, though Octavia insisted she would practise this morning anyway. She likes to dance, but there have not been many opportunities for her to do so since she has been out.”

“And do you like to dance, Bellamy?”

“I do.”

“Good, I’m glad. For you know, it will be expected that you dance with all the eligible ladies in attendance.”

“All of them, sir?”

“Now, Bellamy, I have said that you can call me Marcus, haven’t I?”

He had, but it was taking Bellamy some getting used to. He had met his new friends Mr. Jordan and Mr. Green a few times since the dinner at Mrs. Bragg’s—both at evening engagements and at the former’s favoured inn during the day—and transitioning to calling them Jasper and Monty had been easy. Despite the close bond between the two men, Bellamy was never made to feel like an outsider, and he was glad to have made friends in London. However, though he felt more at ease with Mr. Kane as time had passed, his position as their benefactor—and how easily he could decide to send them on their way if they did anything he didn’t like (such as telling people they had a great inheritance perhaps)—made Bellamy more wary of such camaraderie.

“Yes, sir—Marcus,” he corrected.

He smiled. “But as for your dancing. You will not dance with your sister, of course, and I am sure the restraints of time will not allow you to dance with everyone, but you must make an effort to dance with a great many of the young ladies in your acquaintance. Even without this silly rumour of your fortune, it would be expected, but with it, I’m afraid you will be quite occupied this evening.”

Mr. Kane did not often broach the subject of the rumour, but when he did, Bellamy could not help but inquire, “You do not think that perhaps I should not dance because of it? To not give rise to false hope?”

Marcus nodded approvingly at this question. “I am glad you are giving the matter due weight, Bellamy. But, no, it would be seen as very bad form for you not to dance at all—especially when the ladies always outnumber the men, and we want to secure vouchers to Almack’s. Just ensure you dance with a variety of ladies and ask no lady to dance more than once. Then, I think you will be in no danger of raising expectations. I am sure you have a wide enough variety of acquaintances to satisfy.”

Bellamy nodded.

“Though you need not ask Clarke,” he said, almost as an aside.

“No?”

“She does not dance.”

Bellamy frowned. “An injury?”

“Oh, no, I believe she is in excellent health. But she prefers not to dance. You know she is set against marriage and therefore says she has no need of dancing. Not that she would be so rude as to refuse an invitation, of course, but I have heard her say numerous times she prefers not to be asked and it is generally well-known now.”

“I see,” Bellamy replied, the wheels beginning to turn in his mind.

His initial idea was to simply ask her to dance—if he made the invitation in front of her mother, she would be obliged to accept, and he knew both the dancing and his company would irritate her. But that seemed too simple. For it to truly be a prank, he must detain her for longer than just one dance as she had done when her misinformation on his potential investment encouraged Mr. Collins and the other men to claim so much of his time. Thankfully, the night quickly opened to give him the opportunity for a more ingenious plan.

In the two weeks since Mrs. Bragg’s dinner party, Monty had used every opportunity to speak to Miss McIntyre if she was in attendance and could not help mentioning her name if she wasn’t. Bellamy would have cautioned his new friend if it were not extremely plain that the lady returned his feelings and perhaps only wanted a less strict parent to allow her to spend more time with him in return. Mrs. McIntyre had been polite to Monty certainly, but he had noticed the much warmer manner she had afforded other gentlemen whom Bellamy knew to have great incomes—even he, who had been only polite to Miss McIntyre had been given a greater welcome, his supposed fortune having been found out.

Miss Harper McIntyre, though, plainly had no cares for fortune; when she walked past their group that night, she spoke to Monty first (as she always did), making a show to mention her as yet unfilled dance card. Monty did not miss this hint, asking her for her first available dance and even going so far as to claim a second later in the night. Marcus’ words in his mind, Bellamy asked for a dance as well—certain that Miss McIntyre would prove a far more pleasant partner than some of his other acquaintances—but his main interest was caught by her passing mention that Miss Griffin had left her dance card with her cousin for safe-keeping.

He did feel some guilt at using Monty and Miss McIntyre, however unwittingly, to retaliate against Miss Griffin, but he knew that the lady was sharp enough to understand her cousin had not helped him on purpose. Their tendency to forget those around them while in conversation, usually pleasantly amusing, helped him tonight, for Miss McIntyre was distracted long enough that Bellamy could not only retrieve Miss Griffin’s dance card unseen, but also write in his name for a particular dance.

His next task was then to convince other gentlemen that Miss Griffin not only wanted to dance with them, but had entrusted Bellamy of all people with this confidence. To his slight surprise, he did not have to work very hard to convince his chosen few, and as he had hoped, soon other gentlemen overheard and knew to ask her as well. He had timed his persuasion well; they approached as she was with her mother and Aunt McIntyre, in front of whom she would be hard-pressed to refuse.

When the first dance began, Bellamy stood up with Miss Bragg—not his preferred choice, for it meant he was further away from Miss Griffin’s first dance with the young Connors than he would have liked, but she and her mother had dropped so many hints he could not but ask—but he was still able to see her take a few turns, wearing a polite smile on her face that dropped to a blank mask whenever she turned away from her partner.

As Marcus had instructed, Bellamy stood up for the majority of the sets and took care never to dance with a lady more than once. They were not all a chore—his dances with Miss McIntyre and Miss Martin being the most enjoyable, for in addition to being excellent dancers, both ladies had a greater arsenal of conversation topics than dresses and balls—but there was one dance he was most interested in.

As Octavia too was on her feet most of the night, it was only luck that allowed Bellamy to find her by the refreshments table halfway through the dancing. He had not meant to tell her his plan, but when he grinned at the sight of Miss Griffin scowling in the middle of the dance floor, his sister left her latest admirer to pull her brother aside and force him to explain himself.

“Don’t try to play innocent with me, Bell. I know you too well to believe there is nothing up your sleeve. You have some scheme in motion.”

Bellamy sighed but did admit her suspicion was correct.

Octavia’s eyes boggled as Bellamy explained the whole of it. “How on Earth did you manage to arrange Miss Griffin’s dancing? She never gave _you_ charge of her card.”

“No.” He did not mention that he had _borrowed_ the card when the opportunity presented itself, and instead explained the greater part of his plan. “The problem is, these young chaps were too scared to ask her, given her reputation; all I had to do was mention that she had been wishing to be asked in a few select ears.”

“And they believed that?”

“They are more foolish than you think. Once a few had asked her, the others were quick to follow suit. As she is already dancing with their friends, it would look too rude to refuse the others, and she cannot decline if they ask in front of her mother.”

“And you made sure they asked when she was with Mrs. Griffin, didn’t you?”

“I might have made the initial suggestion when she was with her mother and aunt, yes.”

Octavia shook her head, looking back to the dance floor as the orchestra started once more. Miss Griffin remained among the dancers, but looked rather more fondly at her new partner. “It seems it cannot all be torture. She is dancing with Mr. Jordan now, and you know she is fond of him.”

“From what I have heard, he will spend half the time stepping on her feet. But I could not deny her some conversation. I am not a monster.”

“You are too thoughtful, dear brother,” Octavia said impassively. “And who follows Mr. Jordan?”

Bellamy did not know the precise order, but mentioned the gentlemen that she was still engaged to dance with, mostly harmless but dull young boys whose parents had no doubt told them they should try to catch Miss Griffin’s fortune no matter how afraid they were of the lady herself. “And her last dance is with me.”

“You?” Octavia replied, eyes widening.

“Yes. As Miss Griffin finds no one more insufferable than myself, it seemed the ideal way to end her terrible night.”

Octavia’s lips twitched. “How gallant of you.”

Gallantry was the last thing on Bellamy’s mind when he made his way to Miss Griffin to claim his dance. As he straightened his navy jacket, he observed her from the edge of the dance floor. She was applauding the end of the previous dance, her well-mannered countenance not able to fully hide the annoyance in her eyes. However, Bellamy thought her latest dance partner, Lord Myles Ryland, looked more dejected after the dance than she did.

When Lord Ryland saw Bellamy approaching to take her hand, the boy looked relieved and dashed off after a rushed greeting.

Miss Griffin looked sternly at Bellamy as he tried not to show how much he was enjoying himself.

“Has the ball been to your liking, Miss Griffin?” he asked as they took their places for the dance.

“Immensely,” was her cool response.

“I am glad to hear it. It seemed Lord Ryland was not so diverted.”

“He is young. He will recover,” she said dryly, raising her hand.

Bellamy took it, noting the slightness of her gloved hand in his. The delicacy of her form was entirely at odds with her sharp eyes.

“I hope some of your other dance partners were more to your liking,” he said, as they began the steps of the dance.

“You hope no such thing,” she replied, though there was no heat in it. “Though I cannot think why you chose to put yourself forward, Mr. Blake.”

“No?”

“Most of the gentlemen I danced with tonight clearly hoped to try for my fortune, but as you have no need of it, I can only think you hope to show them in a worse light.”

“Not at all,” he replied as they turned. “If anything, I would think my appearance would make you think all the better of everyone else.”

They turned back to face each other in time for Bellamy to catch the amused quirk of her lips before she smoothed her expression.

Her look turned enquiring as they took the next steps, and it wasn’t long before her unexpected silence started to worry him. For one thing, when she was not distracting him with her quick wit, it was hard not to notice how well Miss Griffin’s countenance was set off by the candlelight, the green hues of her dress complimenting her blue eyes. Even more disconcerting was the naked curiosity in those eyes.

Many of the ladies he had danced with tonight had studied him, but they had all been admiring looks—vanity was not chief among Bellamy’s sins, but he knew he was a handsome man, and the fine clothes he could afford for tonight courtesy of Marcus only added to the effect. Miss Griffin’s eyes, however, did not stray from his face, and though she did not gaze admiringly at him, neither did she show any disgust. Her thoughtful study made him feel very much in danger of being seen for who he truly was. Though he knew she could not know the truth, for a moment, he worried.

“May I ask,” he began when her silence proved too unnerving, “what occupies your thoughts so, Miss Griffin?”

“I am merely wondering, Mr. Blake, why you take such delight in tormenting me.”

“Few young ladies would think it a torment to be asked to dance by nearly every eligible bachelor in attendance.”

“I am hardly young anymore,” she commented off-hand. “But you avoid my question.”

In Bellamy’s opinion, Miss Griffin had not yet lost her bloom. Her face held an elegance to rival any of the young debutantes, even if in society’s eyes she was on the wrong side of twenty-five for an unmarried lady. But he was hardly going to tell her that.

“I am not avoiding it. I merely think it should be obvious.”

“Oh?”

“I am only taking my turn. After your efforts at Mrs. Bragg’s dinner party, you could hardly think I would not respond.”

Her expression tightened infinitesimally. “Considering my efforts were only in response to _your_ attempt to ridicule me, I should have thought there no need for the matter to go any further.”

“So that you could say you had won, I imagine,” he said, a dark edge creeping into his voice.

“So that we could say we were even.”

“Even?” He struggled to hold in a scoff. “How do you imagine that would have made us even?”

“We would have both ridiculed each other on one occasion. I am sure they teach mathematics in the country, Mr. Blake.”

He knew she had added the retort only to irritate him, so he tried not to show just how well it had landed. Their steps were not as smooth now, and he had to force himself to keep his tone low in deference to the proximity of the other dancers. “You were the one who made the first move, Miss Griffin, when you shared that which I asked you not to.”

She stared at him with such shock she nearly missed her step but recovered in time to turn. “I— If you mean the Blake _fortune_ ,” she said with a disdain that would have annoyed him further if he had not been concentrating so fiercely on keeping up this charade of a dance, “may I ask what makes you so certain that I was the one who spread the rumour?”

“So you deny it?”

“I do! You must recall that I was not the only person with whom you shared that information.”

“And yet it was at your mother’s dinner party when it became clear that most of London knew—an evening where you practically gloated that you had given the information away.”

“We barely spoke that evening! Pray, tell me how inquiring after your and your sister’s health could be interpreted as gloating?”

“Before that—when you came down the stairs. The look you gave me!” Bellamy could recall perfectly the challenge in her eyes.

Now, she did stop dancing, and stared at him open-mouthed. “Mr. Blake, do you mean to tell me all this has been because I _smiled_ at you?”

He could make no reply to this. The shock on her face was no act, and since she had stopped moving he could not very well dance by himself.

Mercifully, they were only a few beats away from the end of the song. Their early conclusion was hidden from most, though neither moved even as the others clapped and started to disperse.

Instead of following suit, Miss Griffin glared up at him furiously. “How could you make such an assumption about me on so little evidence?”

“So _little_!” he replied, his anger returning. “You have been disagreeable at every opportunity!” Her mouth fell open, but he was not done. “You made your disdain for my sister and I clear from the night we met.”

“I was nothing but polite to you and Miss Blake!”

“All while you were telling your friend to throw us out lest Octavia sink her claws into him.” He was gratified to see her cheeks flush. “Yes, I did hear your comments about my machinations to throw her in his path. Do you deny that you made them?” he continued, when she was too rattled to respond.

Finally, she answered through gritted teeth. “That was not meant for your ears.”

“But it does not make it any less true. Considering that of our three companions, you were the only one to show us such contempt, who else would share something I asked be kept secret?”

“If secrecy was your goal, perhaps you should not have shared such information to people whose characters you barely knew. I would have to agree that Jasper and Wells are far more amiable than myself, but amiability does not always go hand in hand with discretion.”

“You would accuse your friends?”

“ _I_ would not make any accusations without evidence,” she insisted. “And you may recall, we were attended by a number of servants at dinner. However, I do believe Jasper was very fond of your sister, and I think it likely that in his excitement to tell his friends about Miss Blake, he may have mentioned his pretty new acquaintance was also an heiress.”

Bellamy did not want to believe her, but remembering the ease with which Jasper had shared personal information about Miss Griffin at Mrs. Bragg’s aroused enough suspicion that the man was as loose-lipped as she suggested. All potential rejoinders died on his lips at the realisation, and his skin paled. Thankfully, for the many ladies (young and old) who were admiring Mr. Blake’s form—while simultaneously muttering enviously about Miss Griffin’s good fortune in securing the final dance with him, for it allowed her to more easily remain in conversation with the gentlemen after the dance was over—he did not pale so thoroughly as to disrupt the lovely glow the candlelight gave to his naturally rich brown skin.

By this point, their continued conversation could not continue unremarked on by others. The space which had previously functioned as the dance floor did not remain empty, and there were plenty of other people standing and speaking around them, but the fact that they had remained motionless and locked in intent conversation was drawing an increasing number of stares. For a man to continue to demand a lady’s attention after a dance in such a way would likely set gossip flying, and Bellamy had no desire to be part of any further rumours—especially not those that connected him to Miss Griffin.

But he no longer knew where they stood.

“Well, I…” Bellamy stared at her, uncertainty running through his entire being. “What now?”

“Now,” she said, her eyes blazing, “it is my turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! The remaining parts are all written, I’m just finishing off the edits. Expect Part 3 to go up on Sunday. In the meantime check out the tumblr post for this fic with the 1st art piece [here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/626356986128302080/smallestbrown-my-first-of-two-pieces-for-the).  
> Also, I'm participating in [Bellarke Fic for BLM](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/), where I’m taking prompts for Bellarke and some other fandoms. If you’re interested in donating and submitting a prompt to me you can read more about the prompts I’m taking on tumblr [here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/620650761956818944/taking-prompts-for-blm-initiative).


	3. Chapter 3

He did not speak to Miss Griffin again after she left him in the middle of the dance floor, but her words continued to echo through his head.

Despite the attention shown him from many ladies the rest of the evening, he felt too ashamed to appreciate their interest. Had he really targeted a lady so far above his station for so little?

His conscience was eased somewhat by the knowledge that her contempt for him and Octavia had not been denied or explained away—she had stood by her comments, even if the heat in her cheeks suggested she had enough of a conscience herself to know their fault.

His mother had raised him to know right from wrong, and though he still felt himself somewhat the injured party in all this, it seemed that he might owe Miss Griffin an apology.

When he went down to breakfast the next morning, Bellamy was torn between concern and intrigue. What kind of revenge might Miss Griffin cast down on him next? Her plan with the gentlemen had been quite cunning, and he wondered if she might go the same route or this time try for something more outlandish.

Of course, he mentioned none of these thoughts to Marcus as they ate breakfast. It was just the two of them, for Octavia had claimed a headache from so much dancing and asked for a tray to be taken to her room. Bellamy did not believe her to be truly ill, but rather that his sister was delighting in the extravagances she could not have back home. He did not begrudge Octavia her leisure—if anything, it made responding to Marcus’ questions on how he enjoyed the ball easier, for he did not have to worry about any pointed remarks coming from his sister. He had not yet told her what Miss Griffin said during their dance and doubted Octavia would wait patiently to hear of it.

He was not saved from the subject of his dance with Miss Griffin entirely, however.

“I noticed you dancing with Clarke,” Marcus said easily as he buttered another slice of toast.

“Yes,” Bellamy said hesitantly. “I know you said I need not ask her, but—“

“Oh no, that was only if you wished to save yourself from some dancing. And perhaps she has changed her mind on the matter, for I have never seen Clarke dance so much as she did last night. She is still very light on her feet, I think.”

“Yes,” Bellamy agreed. Whatever else he might complain about, the quality of her dancing could not be faulted.

“You seemed to share a rather… extended conversation.”

Bellamy tensed at this comment, so casually delivered he could not mistake the intention behind it. “We were only talking of the ball.”

“Of course, but if I may caution you, Bellamy? You must know that Clarke has no thoughts towards matrimony.”

“I know.”

He continued as if Bellamy had not spoken, “Her fortune is great, and in her situation, there truly is no need for marriage.”

“Yes, you have mentioned.”

“Even If she were to marry, the gentlemen would likely be— Well.” Marcus stopped, clearly debating how to continue. “You know, I hoped that in inviting you both to stay, yourself and Octavia might make good matches. Your stepfather was well-respected and from a good family, even if he was never rich. But, you see—“

Bellamy decided to put him out of his discomfort, finishing the sentence for him, “A lady of Miss Griffin’s station would never connect herself with the natural son of nobody knows whom.”

He had heard this thinking many times; his mother had been extremely fortunate to draw the attention of Mr. Blake, a generous man who was too in love to care much for the fact that his bride had already given birth to a son by an unknown father. At the age of ten, Bellamy had thought himself too much of a man to be in need of a father, but to his enduring credit, Mr. Blake had always treated him with kindness, even giving him his name and what protection it offered. Which was not everything. Thomas Blake’s reluctance to visit his former home in London—even refusing the express desires of a young Octavia, who was otherwise indulged by her father—told him that Thomas had not expected a welcome if he ever returned.

Now, after so many years had passed—and they were under Marcus Kane’s protection—the Blakes had been welcomed in London. And yet none of his step-father’s other school friends or their families had made the effort to call.

“I am afraid not,” Marcus said apologetically.

“Never fear, sir. I am well aware that Miss Griffin has no particular inclination towards me. Rest assured, the sentiment is shared.”

Marcus did not look entirely convinced. No doubt, the particularity of Bellamy’s speech was a source of confusion, clearly at odds with the visibly intense conversation they had shared. However, Marcus prided himself on his ability to read people, and as Bellamy’s face did not express any hint of falsehood, the man decided to take his young friend at his word.

“Well, in that case, I am glad that you are not to be disappointed and your connection with Clarke is purely one of friendship.”

Bellamy nodded, making no effort to correct him on this score.

“And,” Marcus continued, “you know, it seemed you were a favourite with many other ladies whose families would have no objection.”

Bellamy flushed. “I believe only because of my supposed fortune, sir.”

“Nonsense,” Marcus said with cheer. “Well, perhaps in the case of Miss Bragg,” he conceded. “However, I believe Miss Breeland and Miss Carlow are not in need of rich husbands. Their fathers are both in trade and have made quite a penny these last three years.”

“I have yet to form an attachment to any of the ladies I have met in London,” he admitted.

“Not yet, but give it time. You are thirty after all, Bellamy. Exactly the right time for you to be looking for a wife.”

A part of Bellamy wished to point out that Marcus had never married himself, but he did not. Marcus was a gentleman of wealth and had all the advantages in life that Bellamy did not. A wife with even a modest fortune could help his future greatly, and he would likely do well to start thinking about some of these women as potential brides.

However, Bellamy felt that for now, any thoughts of matrimony would have to wait until he had decided what to do about his situation with a certain Miss Griffin.

That lady took much less time than Bellamy did to decide on her next move. No less than three days after the ball at Lady Diyoza’s, Marcus came home with exciting news after a visit from Miss Griffin.

Bellamy had to work not to show his surprise when Marcus related the story over the dinner table. It was one of the few days recently that he had not spent the day with Marcus himself, so he wondered if perhaps she had expected to see him and whether she had been disappointed or pleased when he had not been present as she put her plan into place. Whatever her thoughts, it transpired that she had convinced Marcus he must host a ball in honour of the Blakes. Apparently, she confessed that as a new particular friend of Mr. Blake’s, she had realised he was longing for such an event, though was too humble to ask himself.

From across the dinner table, Bellamy noticed the warring emotions on his sister’s face: delight at another ball, this one partly given for her sake, and amusement at the prospect of what might lie in store for her brother. She knew better than anyone that a ball given in his honour was the last thing Bellamy would enjoy.

He tried to assure Marcus that it was not necessary, but it was no use. For one thing, Octavia did not assist with his entreaties since she wanted the ball to take place. For another, his words seemed to feed into that which Miss Griffin had already made the man believe: that he was too unpretentious to request to such a spectacle for himself, no matter how much he enjoyed the entertainment. Bellamy cursed himself for allowing Marcus to believe the lady was his friend, for that had plainly helped her achieve her goal.

There was nothing for it. A ball was to be had, and as Marcus had not hosted one himself for a long time, Miss Griffin had so generously offered to help him with all the preparations.

He had thought that Miss Griffin would want a swift revenge, but the event was scheduled for more than a month away. She had been the one to propose the date, reasoning to Marcus that as people were already looking to the next ball at Almack’s, in three or so weeks, they should hold theirs after that occasion—allowing Mr. and Miss Blake time to increase their acquaintance in London and enough time to plan a grand occasion to celebrate them.

The delay of the occasion at first gave Bellamy pause. He didn’t believe that the ball itself was her prank; given her insistence on helping Marcus with the arrangements—without any input from the guests of honour—it seemed far more likely that she had something greater in store for him.

Visions of the various humiliations she might try to inflict on him plagued him that night, but on reflection, he didn’t believe Miss Griffin would publicly degrade him. After all, Marcus was involved, and he had to believe that her affection for that man was enough to prevent her from making a spectacle of his charge.

However, he didn’t put past her finding some opportunity for a more private mortification.

Bellamy would have liked to know if he would speak to her privately before the ball—merely to see if she would give any hint away as to what he might expect—but he could not be assured of the prospect. Despite her mother’s attendance at nearly every evening event they had been invited to, Miss Griffin was a more intermittent guest. He had heard the occasional muttering about her absences from some of the society mamas, but it was often accompanied by a number of eyerolls so as to suggest this was a common occurrence.

Bellamy had no reason to expect the next few weeks before the ball at Almack’s—for surely she would be at Almack’s—would be any different until two days later when Monty called on him.

His new friend had written the night before asking if he might call, but had not given a reason for his visit aside to request that it might be a private discussion. As Octavia already had plans to call on her new friend Miss Kara Cooper along with the Porters, and Marcus would be at work, this was easy enough to arrange as long as Bellamy could leave the office early. Marcus willingly obliged, pleased his charge was making friends.

Monty arrived promptly, looking strangely uneasy as they exchanged pleasantries. When Monty informed him that Mr. Jordan had fallen down the stairs the previous day and sustained a serious injury to his leg, Bellamy assumed his uncharacteristic gravity was due to concern over his friend. Thankfully, a brief explanation assured him that the doctor believed Jasper would recover with time.

“I am glad to hear it,” Bellamy said. “Can he receive visitors? I am sure Octavia would like to see him as well, if we can.”

Monty smiled a little. “Yes, I think he would be happy to see you both.” The young man’s hesitation was explained when he said, “I have a favour to ask of you.”

Though they had not known each other long, he already considered Monty a friend. Bellamy’s initial feeling was that he would be happy to help in any way he could, but before he could voice this generous thought, he realised that the favour Monty required might possibly involve money.

Since becoming better acquainted with Monty and Jasper, Bellamy had learnt of the conditions precipitating Monty’s move to London a few months before the Blakes arrival. The son of a gentleman of significant wealth, Monty had grown up in Gloucestershire, where he had returned after completing his studies at Oxford University alongside Jasper. Since then he had indulged his scientific interest by undertaking certain avenues of research, but only privately since, as most men of his station he hadn’t had any need of an income – or so he had thought. Last year, his father had passed away, leaving behind unforeseen gambling debts that had forced the Greens to give up many of the comforts they had previously enjoyed. Monty’s mother now resided with her sister while Monty had moved to London to work as a scientist and to live as a guest of the Jordans.

Remembering now that the finer details of this story had been related to him by Jasper when Monty left the table during a quiet evening out, Bellamy felt a renewed sense of guilt for never once suspecting Jasper as the culprit behind spreading the story of the Blake inheritance. Strange, he reflected, that even now he knew, he felt no desire to retaliate on Jasper in revenge. Though, knowing now the young man had broken his leg, it would have been very cold-hearted indeed to think he required any further punishment.

Thus, Bellamy was quite nervous about the specifics of Monty’s request until the man said, “I need a chaperone.”

“A chaperone?”

Monty explained that he had been given permission to court Miss McIntyre and take her out walking, but to prevent Mrs. McIntyre from taking the role of chaperone herself, her daughter had convinced her to instead agree to a friend, if they each took one. It seemed Jasper was supposed to be the friend that accompanied Monty, but with his injury he could no longer take on the role.

“Do you think Mrs. McIntyre will accept me as a suitable chaperone in his stead? She does not know me half so well as Jasper.”

“No, but she knows Mr. Kane and thinks very well of him.”

“Well, if it is acceptable to the family, I would be happy to take his place as chaperone.”

Monty smiled, but still looked hesitant. “I should tell you that Miss Griffin will be accompanying Harper.”

Bellamy’s eyes grew wide. “Miss Griffin?” he repeated sharply.

“Before you object, you should know that now we have become better acquainted, I have found her to be very kind and amiable.”

Bellamy held his tongue, but his frowning countenance could not be disguised. 

Monty sighed, clearly having feared this reaction. “How exactly did she wrong you when you met in Grantham? I am certain it must have been a misunderstanding.”

Of course in some ways, their feud was the result of a misunderstanding, but Bellamy couldn’t tell Monty that. He had started their war and Clarke had continued it, for which he could not fault her. In fact, he even begrudgingly respected her for it. But that didn’t mean he wanted to spend so much time with her. After all, the point of them replacing Mrs. McIntyre as chaperones was undoubtedly to give Monty and Harper’s budding romance a chance to bloom. He and Miss Griffin would be expected to separate and allow the couple to talk privately, meaning she would be his only company on these walks.

But when he caught sight of Monty’s resigned countenance, Bellamy found himself agreeing to the role, saying that perhaps it truly had been a misunderstanding. He did not want to sour his friendship with Mr. Green by being difficult.

When his friend left, with promises to return the favour to him when he was able, Bellamy realised being forced to spend more time in Miss Griffin’s company might give him the opportunity for his next prank.

As she had said, it was her turn, but she had already made her intentions clear by convincing Marcus to host the ball. It would be unsporting of Bellamy to play a prank on her in advance of hers coming to fruition—but what if he had her plan wrong? With the ball a distraction, she might decide to strike now instead of waiting. The ball was still so far away, after all.

Perhaps he should go prepared with a prank of his own. A walk in the park would not allow for anything other than a small trick. Bellamy considered his options for two days, only alighting on something to suit the day before he was scheduled to walk out as Monty and Miss McIntyre’s chaperone.

Octavia was out with Gaia and Indra buying new dresses—an occasion Bellamy had been expressly barred from after he had been unable to keep his opinions on the designs of the display dresses to himself on previous excursions—and as Marcus had gone to meet a friend after work, Bellamy was spending some of his leisure time until dinner mending a hole in his shirt.

It was not particularly necessary; Marcus had given both Blakes the same offer of an entirely new wardrobe, and though Bellamy had not taken him quite so literally as his sister, he’d had many new clothes made up better suited to London entertainments than those he had brought with him. But during the day, Bellamy often wore his old shirts, and one of them had developed a hole in the cuff.

He found making the simple stitches required to close the hole was relaxing, an old, practised action among all the new excitement of London. The familiarity of needle and thread in his hand—which he had not picked up since arriving in London—also reminded Bellamy of a small prank he could easily pull on Miss Griffin during their walk.

All his trick required was a few small stitches to discreetly attach a spool of thread to someone’s clothing. Once the target noticed the loose thread hanging from their clothes, they would pull at it, only to discover the thread seemingly went on forever.

It had been a prank played quite regularly between the younger men working in the shop where Bellamy had worked. It had been no great difficulty to attach the spools to his fellows while they worked, but there was bound to be a point where Miss Griffin was distracted long enough for him to sew a few discreet stitches into the folds of her dress. Perhaps if he convinced her to sit on a bench momentarily?

There had been a few occasions where the prank had turned dangerous, but as they would be walking on grass, he did not think Miss Griffin would be in any peril. Besides, he would only play it if she tried to prank him first.

In order to make preparations, he went to his old coat. After that first dinner at Mrs. Griffin’s, when he had felt the absence of his mother’s old sewing pouch, he had taken to carrying it again, moving it between the jackets as he wore them. He had worn his old jacket while sight-seeing earlier today, but would have to wear one of his new ones to look respectable enough to accompany ladies of Miss Griffin and Miss McIntyre’s station in Hyde Park. He took the pouch from his red jacket, but before moving it to his green one, he dropped a needle and spool of white thread inside. Once, a long time ago, his mother had used it for that purpose as a seamstress, but the fabric had grown worn and frayed over time; it was generally only useful as a keepsake now.

When he put the pouch in his green jacket, however, it didn’t sit smoothly in the stylish, fitted style with the bulky spool. Bellamy had brought a box of various sewing supplies with him, though, and once he had included a few ribbons and scraps of cloth, the shape smoothed out and was less noticeable.

He was nervous upon arrival at the McIntyre house the following day, trying not to touch the pocket with the pouch, though at the outset, there didn’t appear to be much to worry about. Miss Griffin’s countenance on greeting them was a far cry from her determined parting look at the ball. Although the smile she bestowed on Bellamy was more guarded than the one she graced Monty with, there was nothing to reproach in her behaviour. Had Bellamy not already determined that he would act as politely as possible, her amicable behaviour would only have furthered this resolve.

Whether Mr. Blake’s determination was for the admirable pursuit of supporting his friend’s courtship or the less worthy pettiness of not wanting to be out done by his imagined rival, this author will leave to the reader to judge.

As the four walked to Hyde Park, Monty and Miss McIntyre did most of the talking, requiring Bellamy and Miss Griffin to chime in only occasionally. Bellamy tried to assess Miss Griffin’s mood during this time, but she proved hard to read. Initially, the ladies walked in front together, but when their positions altered so that Miss Griffin was at the back by Bellamy’s side, she still kept her gaze firmly forward. It was the direction her eyes should be trained as a chaperone, he supposed, but he felt this was not her reasoning.

On reaching Hyde Park, Bellamy could not help but note the number of fine equipages circling the park’s drives. Though there were plenty of people walking or on horseback, Bellamy felt the difference in wealth starkly. Surely the men who usually courted ladies of Miss McIntyre and Miss Griffin’s station invited them out for drives rather than walks, but neither he nor Mr. Green had a gig or a phaeton or even horses to offer. Bellamy supposed if there ever was a lady he wished to court in London, Marcus would let him take one, but then he should be forced to admit he did not know how to drive one. Good then that it seemed quite unlikely he’d ever have need of it.

At any rate, Miss McIntyre did not seem to have any qualms about the slower pace of their jaunt, taking Monty’s arm with ease. Bellamy worried that his friend appeared perhaps a little uncertain, but once Miss McIntyre commented on some foliage, Monty brightened and began providing a number of explanations that interested the lady greatly. Though Bellamy was intrigued to begin, his attention soon waned. Apparently, his keen interest in history did not extend to other disciplines such as plant life.

He tried not to show this, of course, doing his best to match the civil expression Miss Griffin maintained, until she interrupted Monty’s speech to say, “I believe I have just seen a friend on that side of the park. Perhaps you would accompany me, Mr. Blake?”

He bowed his acquiescence, noting a brief, grateful smile from Miss McIntyre to her cousin before they set off in the other direction.

As they walked on, Bellamy observed most of the other pairs walked very close, if not arm in arm. He and Miss Griffin might stand out from the distance left between them, more than enough for a third to stand. He didn’t feel inclined to offer her his arm—nor did he think such a gesture would be welcome—but surely, they could not maintain this silence.

Her eyes flickered to his, giving Bellamy the unwelcome realisation that while Miss Griffin had continued to stare ahead, his gaze had been fixed on her for some time. From the curiosity sharpening in her eyes, he suspected she had felt it.

Feeling the need to speak, Bellamy said, “I did not think you would wish me to make the acquaintance of anyone you considered a friend.”

Her laugh seemed genuinely amused. “It is too late for that, Mr. Blake. But in this case, there is no cause for concern. I’m afraid when we reach that side, I shall find I was mistaken.”

He could not help responding in similar amusement. “Did you tire of botany, then?”

“Oh, no, I find it quite fascinating. But as the true purpose of a chaperone is to leave one’s charges just enough privacy that they may determine an attachment, I thought a ruse was in order.”

Bellamy was surprised to find himself smiling until she continued in a more measured tone, “I would have thought you to be familiar with the nature of a ruse, Mr. Blake.”

His step faltered before he recalled that she must be referring to his pranks rather than his lie, but the comment ruined the unexpected ease from moments before. Bellamy felt himself stiffen and responded flatly in the affirmative. As they walked on, Miss Griffin asked after his friendship with Mr. Green.

“Yes, I think very well of him,” he replied.

“But you have not known each other long, I believe?”

Bellamy bristled. Given the family had allowed Monty to court Miss McIntyre, he did not expect Miss Griffin to try to interrogate him for more information.

“It does not always take long to ascertain the mark of a man’s character; I believe Mr. Green is a truly excellent man.”

“You need not tell me; I think very well of him too. Although I had not made his acquaintance before this season, Jasper has told me much about him from their days at Oxford. From what I gather, Mr. Green saved Jasper from quite a number of scrapes.”

“Oh. Then why did you ask me about him?” Bellamy asked bluntly.

A wry smile crossed her lips. “Could it be that I am simply making conversation?”

When he remained silently frowning, Miss Griffin sighed and came to a stop. She turned slightly to face him before saying, “Mr. Blake, I am sure neither of us desired the situation we now find ourselves in, but for the sake of Harper and Mr. Green, I am willing to be civil.”

“I have been very civil—“ Bellamy began, even as he inwardly cringed at the suddenly heightened pitch of his voice.

“And yet you take offense at even the most civil inquiry?” Her remark was delivered lightly, but her look was pointed.

Bellamy took in a deep breath as he surveyed their surroundings. A few couples had cast their eyes in their direction now that they had stopped, but most ignored them. In the distance, he could see Miss McIntyre bending down to smell a flower, entirely obvious to the lovestruck gaze of her companion.

“I am also willing to be civil,” he agreed finally, “for the sake of our friends.”

“Thank you for such a concession.” If he had not known it by her acerbic tone, he could certainly tell from the flippant curtsey that followed that she was mocking him.

When he raised his eyebrows at her, she had the grace to look somewhat humbled.

“Perhaps it will take us _both_ some practice,” she admitted.

He could not help laughing, and Miss Griffin soon joined him.

“You must not think this means our challenges are over,” she said when her laughter had subsided.

“No?”

“Only that the time we spend together as chaperones must be considered neutral territory.”

Bellamy nodded. “Perhaps you are afraid of how I will retaliate for the ball.”

“My dear Mr. Blake,” she said, her smile growing dangerous as they resumed walking, “you cannot think that merely convincing Marcus to host a ball was the end of my plot. No, you must live in fear for what is in store for you on the night.”

Her tone was more teasing than challenging, so he laughed. The silence that followed did not have the heaviness of before, and when he spoke it was in a good faith attempt to meet this agreement to truly be civil. “How does Mr. Jordan fare? I have not been able to see him yet, but Monty said he must remain indoors for some time.”

“Unfortunately so. Thankfully, the doctors think the break will heal, but it will take time. Jasper said he was happy to have an excuse not to attend the functions he did not wish to go to, but when I saw him yesterday, it seemed boredom had set in.”

“I can understand his sentiments. I don’t believe I would like to be inside all the time with no occupation.”

She nodded. “And what is it you do to occupy your time in Yorkshire, Mr. Blake?”

“Oh, I—“ Bellamy hesitated. He couldn’t very well say he was a tailor, but he could hardly tell her he was an idle man after what he had just said. He would have to be more careful in future. “I invest,” he said finally.

“I suppose you must need to do something with your great fortune,” she said in an indecipherable tone.

“Yes, exactly,” Bellamy replied, hoping his discomfort wasn’t too plain.

“It seems I was not very far off the mark, then.” When Bellamy only raised an eyebrow at her, she explained, “In what I told Mr. Collins and the other gentlemen?”

Despite himself, his lips twisted into a smile. “No, not very far.”

She clearly expected him to respond in jest, but he struggled to choose a response that was suitably amiable. He did not want to dig himself any deeper into the lie, so their walk continued in silence.

He did not mind it at first, but the longer it went, the more uncertain he felt. Finally, when he could bear it no longer, Bellamy blurted, “The weather is very hot today.”

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she replied mildly. 

“I hope it doesn’t continue.”

A brief smile came to her lips. “I’m afraid you will be disappointed there. As we head into July, I expect the heat will only increase. Do you prefer rainy days, Mr. Blake?”

“No,” he said, knowing how nonsensical he sounded. “I have no quarrel with the sunshine, but I find the heat quite oppressive.”

“I’m afraid you will be hard pressed to separate the two,” she replied with a laugh.

He felt she was laughing at him, but for some reason, he was amused rather than offended. He knew how stupid he sounded. Perhaps he should have abandoned this foray into civility in favour of last night’s hopes that they would conduct their walk in stony silence.

“Nor would I wish to; but I feel the heat much worse in London than at home.”

“Do you miss the country, Mr. Blake?”

“Sometimes. Though, of course, London has many advantages that cannot be found there,” he said carefully.

“Indeed it does. And yet it does not hold all delight,” she replied. “My mother insists I spend every season in London, but I confess I am always glad to return to Hampshire.”

This statement intrigued Bellamy. “I thought your home in London.”

“It was while my father was alive. My mother and I would stay in London while he split his time between us and his estates, but after he passed, he left his estates to my care. I come to London for the season but spend the rest of the year in Chawton.”

Bellamy had never heard of an unmarried lady of her station living alone, nor one who would take it upon herself to manage multiple estates. “And your mother does not mind living apart from you?”

“Oh, she certainly minds,” she said with amusement. “But my former governess lives with me in Chawton, so she is at least comforted that I will not fall into disrepute. And we both visit each other throughout the year.”

“I see.”

“I suppose you think such things very shocking for an unmarried lady.”

“Not when the lady is yourself,” Bellamy said before he could stop himself.

She laughed. “I am not sure you intend that as a compliment, Mr. Blake.”

He was not sure either. But before he could make such an ungallant reply, a light breeze ruffled the leaves of the tree they were passing underneath, blowing pollen from its flowers onto his jacket. As it was one of his new, quite expensive, acquisitions, Bellamy did not want to risk it staining, and he immediately reached into his pocket to pull out his handkerchief. Too late did he remember that alongside his handkerchief was the pouch he had placed there for a possible prank. His hand emerged grasping both items.

He could have returned them to his pocket smoothly if not for Miss Griffin’s curious gaze, which put him off guard enough that he fumbled and dropped both to the ground.

So much for subtlety.

In preparation for this afternoon, he had taken the liberty of loosening the string on the bag, which meant its contents spilled out. He bent with such haste that he did not think she caught sight of the spool of thread before he returned it. The ribbons he managed to pick out of the thankfully dry blades of grass, but—not wanting to draw even more attention to himself—he had to give the needle up as a lost cause.

He was clumsily tucking the ribbons into the pouch when he stood, noticing Miss Griffin’s inquisitive look had only grown.

Being a well-bred lady, she knew better than to voice her interest, but the look was enough Bellamy felt commanded to answer it. He struggled to find an explanation that would not sound ridiculous and settled on a measure of the truth. “My mother was a seamstress,” he admitted, gaze darting between her face and the pouch in his hands. “This was hers.”

Miss Griffin’s expression softened. “Oh, I see. I had thought perhaps you were holding onto the ribbons for your sister.”

That would have been a much better explanation, he realised. “Yes— Er, no. That is—“ Bellamy took a breath before starting again. “These are from my mother’s old shop. The head tailor is an old friend and sometimes makes a present of such things.”

This was partially true, if only by virtue of Bellamy having succeeded her by working in that very same shop. The head tailor Mr. Pike was a friendly employer, and had even promised to consider taking Bellamy on again when he returned from London, but he had not given the ribbons as a present. They were merely longer offcuts from dresses he had been commissioned to make that Bellamy had deemed worth saving, one of the many cost-saving tricks he had adopted over the years.

“I had thought Octavia might like to add them to some of her new dresses,” he continued, “but she says the ones in London are much finer than any we could get in the country.”

At last he had made a statement that was entirely true, but he soon regretted it. Surely, if he were as rich as he claimed to be, he should think the same as she did.

However, before Bellamy could further entangle himself, Miss Griffin said, “Oh, but I must disagree with Miss Blake. I think these are much prettier than any I could find in town.”

“You do?” The ribbons were pale blue, green and yellow; the fashions he had seen in London this season did include these colours, but only in much richer, more vibrant hues.

“We had similar colours last year, but they are no longer ‘in’ this season. As it is of the utmost importance to be dressed in the latest style, as soon as anything is considered outdated, it disappears from all the shops. But I was very fond of these colours.”

Before the ball, Bellamy felt he would likely have taken offense at her implication that fashion was outdated in the country. However, he could see this was only made in observation (and was one he had privately made himself). Her admiration of the ribbons was clearly unaffected.

“You can have one if you like,” he found himself saying, holding out his gloved palm with the three ribbons laid across it.

“Are you certain?” she asked, her own hand rising almost involuntarily. 

“Yes. As I said, Octavia does not want them and I will not be using them.”

She pulled on the blue one without touching his gloved palm, and he thought it was the one he would have chosen for her had his opinion merited anything. Her eyes flickered to his and she smiled.

It was the smallest smile she had bestowed on him, but he felt it the most genuine.

“Thank you.”

It took him far longer than it should have done to remember to reply, “You’re welcome.”

Hastily, he stuffed the pouch away, remembering belatedly to dust off the darned pollen that had caused his problem in the first place.

They resumed their walk at a leisurely pace, and he noticed Miss Griffin playing with the ribbon between her fingers as they continued in silence.

“It looks a useful size that pouch,” she observed slowly, “to carry such things in. Perhaps for repairs even.”

“Yes, I have found it to be so,” Bellamy replied. Then, recollecting himself, he added, “That is, I did when we had need of such things. I hire people to do those things for me now, of course.”

Her open countenance faded somewhat even though she nodded. “Of course,” she replied, her voice more measured. After a brief pause she continued, “I myself have something similar for my embroidery.”

“Do you like embroidery?”

“Oh no, I detest it. But don’t you know all accomplished ladies must have excellent needlework?”

Bellamy smiled in amusement at her now jovial tone, but before he could respond, Miss McIntyre called out to them.

It seemed she had spotted an aunt on her father’s side being driven around the park and thought it prudent that her chaperones were not quite so far away. This turned out to be wise, for soon after they were all together, the carriage came to a stop in front of them and Miss McIntyre’s aunt leant down from her seat, barely stopping to ask after her brother and sister-in-law’s health before inquiring who the two gentlemen accompanying Miss McIntyre and Miss Griffin on this fine day were.

Despite enraging many other drivers by her inconvenient parking, the lady saw no need to hurry along with her many questions, and by the time she had bid them goodbye, it was time to walk the ladies home.

Their second walk was arranged for three days hence, and though Bellamy brought the pouch with him, this time it was only for sentimental reasons, having returned to its former empty state. Considering their agreement, he could hardly make preparations to prank Miss Griffin again, and, on reflection, he had found their conversation interesting and was curious to see where it would lead this time.

However, it soon became clear that Miss Griffin didn’t share this opinion.

He had not put much stock into the large bag she carried along with her reticule when they first set out, and when she said—no more than five minutes after arriving at Hyde Park—that she was fatigued and would Mr. Blake rest with her on this bench, he presumed she was making another effort to give Monty and Miss McIntyre privacy. Before he could make a jest at her obvious lie, she had opened the bag and pulled out a hoop.

He had not yet sat down and stared at her, inspecting the design she was following from above. “Is that your embroidery?” he said, more out of surprise than anything else.

“I must be making a terrible go at it, if you cannot tell,” she replied mildly. “Given our history, Mr. Blake, I did not believe you would be insulted if I brought something to occupy my time.”

He would never admit it to her, but he was a little insulted. After she had claimed to detest needlework, he had thought a few minutes of conversation with him would be preferable to that—at least now they had agreed to be civil. He tried not to show it as he sat down, though, schooling his countenance before replying evenly, “Not insulted, no. Though as you are occupied, I don’t see why you are in need of my company.”

“I thought it would be easier than you coming up with another excuse—unless you wanted to learn the Latin names of more flowers.” She looked up at this, and despite himself, Bellamy returned her wry smile. “Besides, I might not need company, but I do need your protection.”

Before he could stop himself, Bellamy uttered, “I highly doubt you are a lady in need of protection from anyone, Miss Griffin.”

Her stitches paused. Though her smile was small, Bellamy noticed a faint flush to her cheeks that brightened her countenance immensely. Her response was still wryly delivered. “Perhaps not, but you must know that it would not do for a lady to sit like this by herself.”

He did not think it would ‘do’ for refined ladies to practice their embroidery in Hyde Park either, but he dared not say so. Instead, in the interest of civility, he asked after their mutual acquaintances. She did not say more on Jasper’s recovery than he had seen himself when he and Octavia had visited Jasper the day before, but he was glad to hear of Mr. Wells Jaha. Despite the weeks that had passed since Bellamy’s arrival in London, he had yet to meet the hospitable gentlemen again, although he had met his father. It appeared the man was very busy, having recently taken over the bulk of his father’s business dealings, but had apparently asked after the Blakes.

“He said he hopes to see both you and your sister at the ball in your honour, if not before,” she said, an eyebrow arching at the mention of the ball.

Bellamy felt himself being goaded into a response, but then he caught sight of her needlework and felt himself twitch at the terrible stitching. “I thought you said you were accomplished in needlework,” he said bluntly.

Despite his rudeness, she only grinned. “I said I was an accomplished lady, Mr. Blake. That does not constitute my being _good_ at embroidery. Do you think you could do better?” she asked sweetly, a challenge in her eyes.

“I would be hard pressed to do worse,” he commented.

“I suppose your mother must have taught you.”

“Yes. I had to help her with her work sometimes,” Bellamy said idly.

He only realised what he said when Miss Griffin paused, her look turning gentle.

“But that was a long time ago, before she married Mr. Blake,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m sure I’ve forgotten all that now. What with not having done anything like that for so many years—even before the inheritance.”

The more he said, the more he wanted to disappear, but he could not stop himself. For some reason, Miss Griffin discovering the truth about him seemed even worse a prospect than Marcus learning the rumour of his wealth was Bellamy’s fault in the first place.

He glanced over to see if she believed him still, but Miss Griffin was no longer looking at him. Her gaze had returned to her needlework, and she continued with her stitches. “Yes,” she said. “It is easy to forget such things without practice.”

Bellamy only nodded, too uncertain to make another attempt at conversation while they were alone. As Miss Griffin continued to concentrate only on her needlework, they passed the majority of that afternoon in silence.

As a result, Bellamy decided to bring something with him for the next trip to the park, two days later. He did not think it very unreasonable after Miss Griffin’s behaviour on their last walk, but when Bellamy turned onto the street where he and Monty met, five minutes away from the McIntyre house, his friend’s genial countenance turned grave.

“Is that a book?”

“Yes.”

“Did you bring it to lend to Miss Griffin by any chance?” Monty asked, though he did not seem hopeful.

“No, I brought it for our walk.”

“But Harper and I both thought you looked to be getting along better.”

“We are,” Bellamy said cheerily. Their second walk might not have been as conversational as their first, but it had been a better interaction than anything prior.

Monty took a deep breath. “Just make sure Mrs. McIntyre doesn’t see it.”

When they reached the house, Bellamy dutifully hid the book behind his back and then kept it carefully to one side so as not to be visible to the ladies until he and Miss Griffin had separated from Monty and Miss McIntyre in the park.

“Now I am well and truly insulted,” Miss Griffin said once he brought the book into view, though her wide smile suggested otherwise. “What will people say if they know one of London’s most eligible bachelors would rather read than share ten minutes of conversation with me?”

This was not quite what he expected her to say. “I hardly consider myself to be one of London’s most eligible bachelors,” he replied, hoping his cheeks were not as visibly heated as they felt.

“Do you not? Since your fortune is now so widely known, you cannot be surprised. You must have heard the talk?”

He had heard it—sometimes directly, but more often filtered through Marcus, who had growing concerns over him and Octavia finding a suitable match with an ever-ballooning rumour that he dare not squash dogging their steps.

“There are many men in London far more eligible than I,” he said finally.

“You are the newest addition to the season, so you have mystery on your side. And I see you did not correct me on your reasons for bringing a book.”

“I presumed you were going to bring your embroidery again and thought I must arm myself accordingly.”

“I believe my needlework is truly a lost cause. What book did you bring?”

He showed her and noted how her sardonic smile turned genuine.

“Oh, I enjoyed _Waverley_. Is it a favourite of yours as well?”

“I have only just started it, but I am enjoying it so far.”

Miss Griffin then insisted on knowing his opinion on the characters before contradicting each one. He was in the middle of explaining that he could hardly have a fully informed picture of each individual when he was not even halfway through the novel, when a gleam in her eye made him stop walking and reconsider.

“Do you actually believe that, Miss Griffin, or are you disagreeing with me on purpose?”

“I must be disagreeable at every opportunity, mustn’t I?” she said with a bright smile. She seemed more charming than acerbic, yet Bellamy felt chastened at hearing his words repeated back to him. Miss Griffin was far from the easy, agreeable companion ladies were expected to be, but her wit made her a far more entertaining conversationalist than any of the mundane exchanges he had shared with other ladies he had met in London.

He cleared his throat, trying to determine how they should continue. “Miss Griffin, I—“

“There you are,” they heard Miss McIntyre’s bright voice. “Monty and I thought you were quite lost, you had fallen so far behind.”

Looking around, Bellamy realised that he and Miss Griffin had not travelled very far at all, too engrossed in their discussion.

“Mr. Blake and I had one of our famous arguments,” Miss Griffin replied, not at all disorientated by their lack of movement. Her smile only grew at the concerned looks from the couple before she said, “About a book.”

Monty’s concern did not fade, but Miss McIntyre laughed and led them out of the park.

Bellamy finished reading _Waverley_ that same evening but did not realise he was looking forward to discussing the novel with Miss Griffin until he was thwarted in this endeavour. She had not often been present at the evening social engagements he attended between their previous walks, and the one time she had been was at the theatre so he had only seen her from a distance. Therefore, he was nonplussed when he did not see Miss Griffin at the two occasions that followed this last walk—indeed, his time had been too monopolised by the keen Miss Breeland at the dinner her father hosted to have sought out Miss Griffin had she been in attendance. However, when he arrived with Monty at the McIntyre household on the date of the next walk, Bellamy felt his face perceptibly fall and had to mask his disappointment when Miss McIntyre walked out with another young lady.

Her friend, Miss Zoe Monroe, was joining them as Miss Griffin was unavailable. Not wanting to seem too interested, Bellamy was grateful that Monty expressed concern for Miss Griffin’s health, but when Miss McIntyre had assured him nothing was amiss, he had no further questions.

Bellamy had made Miss Monroe’s acquaintance only briefly at Mrs. Bragg’s dinner party, but over the course of their walk, he found her to be very amiable, albeit not as forthcoming with her opinions as his usual chaperoning partner.

Miss Monroe had read _Waverley_ and enjoyed it, but had no further commentary on the book. She had known Miss McIntyre since she was a little girl, but had no anecdotes to share. She seemed more interested in asking Bellamy questions than answering any herself, but he soon ceased to be wary of her inquiries. Unlike so many other ladies he had met, her questions related less to his person and hints towards his wealth, but to his life in the country; Miss Monroe was very interested in riding and shooting.

Bellamy was forced to lie about the amount of shooting he did—hoping he had not inflated this experience too high, for he really did not have any notion how often gentlemen did such things. However, he could be honest in how much he enjoyed riding in the scenic countryside, even if he did not mention the fact that he had not been able to afford to keep horses after his stepfather died, and his riding was now very infrequent.

The walk was pleasant enough, but Bellamy felt his smile widen the next time he arrived at the McIntyre house and Miss Griffin came down the stairs. His face froze when he realised the extent of his reaction, his happiness taking him unawares.

Having outlined the events of the last walk to his sister, he had spent the past three days being teased by Octavia for missing Miss Griffin’s company, an accusation he had vehemently denied. However, when Miss Griffin came to stand by his side, he was very much struck by the notion of preferring her company to nearly anyone else he had met in London.

It was a very unwelcome realisation, particularly because he still wasn’t sure he even liked her. She could be very rude and seemed to enjoy riling him up—although on deeper reflection, he could own that the same could be said of himself.

She seemed in no rush to begin conversation, but not wanting to dwell on these uncomfortable thoughts, Bellamy said in a low voice, “I hope your mother is well.”

Miss Griffin appeared surprised that he had spoken to her directly before even reaching Hyde Park and separating from their friends, but only said her mother was in excellent health before asking after Marcus and Octavia.

Bellamy assured her of their well-being. “And, uh, you are in good health as well, I hope?”

“Why, yes, I am in excellent health. I hope you don’t mean to imply that I look otherwise,” she continued with no little amusement, “for that would be very ungallant of you.”

“No,” Bellamy laughed. “I only wondered— As you could not join us the other day, I hope nothing was amiss.”

Her look softened. “Thank you, Mr. Blake. But, no, nothing was amiss.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“In truth, I thought you would have been relieved to have a break from my company. I understand Zoe came with you.”

“Yes, she did. It made for a very confusing walk, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? Before you continue, I will warn you that Miss Monroe is an old friend,” she said, a frown on her lips.

“Indeed? It was very disconcerting not to hear any of my opinions disparaged,” Bellamy replied, jovial. “As she is your friend, I am surprised you did not commission her to do so in your stead.”

She laughed. “In that case, I must fear you have been consorting with my grandmama, for she certainly disparaged my opinions in _your_ stead.”

They were in the park now, Monty and Miss McIntyre having walked ahead without notice. Bellamy gestured towards a shadier path, and Miss Griffin slipped her hand into his arm before following.

“Is that who you were with the other day?” he asked.

She sighed, but to his surprise, she explained, “Yes, she—my mother’s mother—paid an unexpected visit to London. When Grandmama is here, we must all do as she commands.”

“You are not close, then?”

Miss Griffin took a moment before replying carefully. “My mother did not have any siblings, and as I have no siblings either, it falls to me to give her ‘a grandchild before she quits this Earth’,” she said in such a tone Bellamy could only recognise it as a direct quote.

“I see.”

“She has always been eager for me to marry, but I had hoped with time… At any rate, she came to visit expressly to inform me of her utter dismay that I am twenty-six and on the shelf.”

“Surely, if you have remained unmarried by choice, then you cannot be considered ‘on the shelf’.” She looked curiously at him, so he continued, “You are not the only person there is gossip about.”

“I’m sure the gossip about me is far less complimentary than it is about you. Unfortunately, when you are a lady, it does not matter whether you remain unmarried by choice or not. You are your sister’s guardian. What would you say if she was unmarried at my age?”

Bellamy smiled. “I have learnt that there is no getting Octavia to do anything she does not want. If that includes remaining unmarried—“ In truth, if Octavia didn’t have Lincoln, Bellamy would have encouraged her to find a suitable husband on this trip as Marcus suggested. Bellamy would never be able to support both her and a wife; having never met a lady to make him consider marriage, he would have easily made the sacrifice, but he would have worried about Octavia’s security should something happen to him. Now that Marcus had promised to help support Octavia if she did not find anyone to ‘tempt her into marriage’ this season, Bellamy’s worries had eased. “I would like to know she is happy and… that she is safe. That is all.”

“Are you thinking of your mother?” she asked quietly.

His head shot up, surprised she had made the connection. “Yes. Before she met Mr. Blake— Well. Our lives could have been very different.”

In a quiet village, an unmarried lady with a child was scandalous; she had been let go from her previous position once she had been unable to hide her pregnancy. If Mr. Pike had not been willing to overlook that and hire her anyway, Bellamy and his mother could have led a very different life indeed. Even then, they were treated shabbily by many until Mr. Blake—an actual _gentleman_ from _London—_ married her.

He felt uncomfortable speaking further about his mother, and so was glad when she asked, “How old were you when Miss Blake was born?”

“Eleven.”

“That must have been quite the change.”

“It was. But things had already changed in the year preceding, after the wedding. And I was glad to have a sister.”

“I always wanted a sibling. Though I have been very lucky in Wells, who has been like a brother to me.” She hesitated before continuing, “Because of that, I believe I am quite a bit more protective of him than my other friends. When I think people are trying to take advantage of him, I might be guilty of jumping to conclusions.”

Bellamy was quick to pick up on her meaning. A side glance showed Miss Griffin gazing directly ahead, but he saw enough to register her countenance was not unaffected.

“Octavia will be the first to attest I have sometimes been guilty of the same,” Bellamy conceded. “Though I am sure _you_ have no need of further evidence that I can jump to conclusions.”

Her laugh was so genuinely amused that Bellamy could not help but join in. As they continued to walk under the leafy shade, Bellamy noticed that despite his heavy jacket and the proximity of his companion, the heat did not bother him.

“It cannot have been easy raising Miss Blake by yourself all these years.”

“No, it has not always been,” he admitted. “But as she has grown, Octavia has grown more respectful of my rules— Or perhaps she has just grown more talented at breaking them.” He made this aside to provoke a laugh, but Miss Griffin did not react, her gaze still looking straight ahead.

“To have lost your mother and stepfather at the same time—and to become guardian of a fifteen-year old girl...” She shook her head. “I cannot imagine.”

Bellamy wondered if Miss Griffin’s thoughts were not entirely with him. “I believe… I think you were about Octavia’s age when your father passed?”

Her eyes darted to his before she nodded slightly. “I was twenty. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago, but— Other days, it is as if it were only yesterday.” She let out a croaky laugh. “That must sound very strange.”

He struggled to keep his gaze on hers. “No, I— I understand, Miss Griffin.”

She stopped walking, and he felt the sudden loss of her hand from his elbow. Before Bellamy could worry he had said something wrong, she had reached into her reticule and pulled out a man’s pocket watch.

“This was my father’s,” she said, holding it up to him.

“It is a very handsome watch.”

“It stopped working some time ago, but I like to carry it with me. It helps me feel like he is close to me still.” Bellamy nodded and watched as her delicate smile grew ever so slightly. “Is that why you carry your mother’s pouch?” she asked.

For a moment, Bellamy felt a very strange and wonderful thread of understanding stretch between them.

Then he felt like an absolute heel.

“I was going to prank you,” he blurted.

Miss Griffin’s lovely countenance grew pinched, her brows knitting close together.

“That day, with the pouch,” Bellamy stammered. “I brought it to prank you.”

Her mouth hung open inelegantly. “You were going to prank me with ribbons?”

“No, I—“ He sighed. “There was a spool of thread in the bag. I meant to attach it to your dress so you thought the thread was coming loose.”

She stared in astonishment.

“It is a very common prank back home,” Bellamy hastened to add.

“I see.” She diverted her gaze to the ground and asked carefully, “So it was not your mother’s pouch?”

“Oh, it is. Only, I normally carry it in a different pocket—and typically without a needle and thread.”

She laughed, and Bellamy was relieved she seemed amused rather than offended.

He startled from his unconscious study of Miss Griffin’s countenance when Miss McIntyre and Monty called out to them that they were going to turn. He had not realised they had fallen so far behind.

Although Miss Griffin did not return her hand to his arm as they resumed walking, he did not feel this was intended as a slight.

“You must think me very ungentlemanly.”

“Indeed I do, Mr. Blake,” she replied, though her tone was full of mirth. “It is not your turn.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The ball in your honour has yet to take place. Therefore, it is not your turn for a trick.”

Bellamy could not help but return her smile.

“I worried you might try to prank me on our walk; I decided to come prepared.”

“I will admit it did cross my mind,” she said, glancing at him. “But I ultimately decided it would be unsportsmanlike.”

“I should apologise then for not reaching the same conclusion. Though I am aware that I have not given you a much more significant apology.”

Despite the openness between them, he did not expect her to say, “I believe I owe you one as well. If you had seen as many thinly veiled attempts to snare Mr. Jaha’s fortune as I have, I don’t believe you would have begrudged my cynicism, but it was wrong of me to have made the assumptions I did. I’m sorry.”

“I think the assumptions I made were much the worse,” Bellamy admitted, “or at least, they began a worse set of circumstances.” This made her laugh, which pleased him. “I truly am sorry, Miss Griffin,” he said, hoping she could see he was being genuine. “You did not deserve my poor attempts at practical jokes.”

He could feel her studying him a fraction longer before she asked, “What were your jokes exactly?”

Bellamy met her gaze easily. “The flowers and the dances, of course.”

She nodded but did not smile. “Of course. As long as I haven’t missed any of your surprises,” she said lightly.

But as their walk continued, Bellamy could not help but feel that some of the openness between them had faded. He could not imagine his apology would cause Miss Griffin to become more guarded, and yet there was a reserve in her countenance that marked the remainder of their walk.

She was in good spirits when they all said their goodbyes, however, and Bellamy could even admit he was looking forward to their next walk (to himself only, of course—he could not bear his sister’s teasing if she knew).

He was busy as he awaited that occasion, Marcus trusting him with increasingly more tasks usually undertaken by his secretary who worked too slowly for his liking. And there were, of course, the usual social engagements, but Bellamy still found time to read another book from Marcus’ collection that he thought Miss Griffin would be interested in and was hoping to discuss it with her. She even made an appearance one evening at a concert, but Bellamy found himself reluctant to approach her. She had been with Miss Monroe at the time, and though he would have gladly have spoken to that lady again, as he had on a few occasions since she had joined the walk, he had been too unsure to walk up to Miss Griffin during the interval—unsure what a conversation between them would be like off the paths of Hyde Park. He had grown used to the intimacy afforded them by their roles as chaperones and did not wish to find that familiarity altered in a new setting.

Monty wrote to him a day prior to say their walk had been superseded by an invitation to take tea at the house. Mrs. McIntyre insisted on being present for this visit, but Monty still wanted Bellamy in attendance to help Clarke in distracting Harper’s mother for at least part of the afternoon.

This seemed a fair request—and hopefully not a difficult one. Books were a safe discussion, even if he was not as interested in Mrs. McIntyre’s thoughts on the subject as Miss Griffin’s, and they could always talk of London. As he was an outsider, the locals always wanted to hear what he had seen and—more commonly—tell him what he should see. He knew how to be charming when he needed to be. Even if he had sorely failed with Miss Griffin in that respect, he did not doubt his ability to charm Mrs. McIntyre.

His certainty failed within five minutes of stepping foot in the house.

The ladies were all standing in the drawing-room when they arrived and greeted them most amiably. However, before they moved to take their seats, Miss Griffin turned to the side, and Bellamy noted with a start that the ribbon spun through her hair was the one he had given her.

The pale blue suited her even better than he had thought, and the unusual style of running it through her hair rather than around it only served to accentuate her looks; the splash of blue next to her face highlighting her rosy cheek.

“Mr. Blake?”

With a start, he realised that everyone had taken their seats but him, and Mrs. McIntyre was understandably confused as to what was causing the delay. 

He awkwardly forced a cough and settled into the chair.

Miss Griffin seemed to have been set the same task by her cousin as Bellamy had been given by Monty. It was a good thing too, for, left to himself, he would not have delivered. He made many an attempt at conversation to steer Mrs. McIntyre’s gaze away from her daughter, but whenever his eyes caught sight of a blue ribbon threaded through golden curls, his tongue seemed to dry, and he forgot what he had meant to say next.

Thankfully, Miss Griffin’s efforts seemed to work well enough if Monty’s high spirits as they left were anything to go by.

“Well?” Monty prompted as they walked down the street. “How did you think she looked?”

He had not heard the former part of his friend’s words, but Bellamy assumed Monty had been talking of his sweetheart. Miss McIntyre was an uncommonly pretty girl, but in truth, he had hardly noticed her today. His eyes were too drawn to the other young lady in the room.

“She looked… quite lovely,” he finished, his mind full of Miss Griffin in her white sprigged muslin and the blue ribbon woven through her hair as he cleared his throat.

Monty, whom he had heard praise Miss McIntyre’s beauty on more than one occasion, only frowned. “I suppose Mrs. McIntyre is still a handsome lady, but I meant whether you thought she looked amenable to my suit.”

Ah. “I am certain she did.”

He was not.

They talked more on his hopes for a proposal before Monty said, “I do appreciate you accompanying me these last few weeks, Bellamy. I know you did not want to, but you and Clarke have not been at one another’s throats as I initially feared.”

“No. I think we both can show decorum when needed.”

“Of course, if there is any favour I can repay to you, you need only let me know.”

Bellamy thanked him most gratefully.

“There is no one you have met in London that you are interested in courting?”

Bellamy stammered a response in the negative. “But while we are talking of proposals,” he continued hesitantly, “do you know— That is, is it true that Miss Griffin rejected hundreds of suitors?”

“I don’t believe it was hundreds,” Monty replied, laughing. “But I have had it from Jasper that there were quite a lot of them—especially in her first two seasons.”

“I see. And she turned them all down?”

“Yes, quite.”

“So she never loved any of her suitors?” The hitch in Monty’s step suggested more to Bellamy than anything he might have said. “She did.”

“I am not sure we should gossip about Miss Griffin’s romantic history. Besides, I have no information first-hand—only what I have had from Jasper.”

Having visited Jasper a few times since his unfortunate injury, and planning to do so still more, Bellamy wished he could obtain information from the source, but Octavia always insisted on joining him, and as Jasper seemed just as pleased to see her as he did Bellamy, he couldn’t very well tell her not to come. Even if it kept him from fishing for gossip about Miss Griffin.

Bellamy briefly lamented Mr. Jordan’s unlucky accident; he was unlikely to see his loose-lipped friend privately for some time. Immediately after, however, he recalled that if not for Jasper’s accident, he would not have been thrust into the role of chaperone. An uncomfortable feeling at that potentially missed opportunity came over him.

“Whatever you say will stay between us of course, Monty. In truth, I—“ Bellamy paused to ensure they were not near anyone. “At the concert the other night when Miss Griffin sat with Miss Monroe, I overheard some ladies whispering that Miss Griffin remains unmarried because she preferred the company of women.” The rumour had not shocked him in itself, for he knew both men and women who had similar preferences, but he could not tell whether there was any truth in it in Miss Griffin’s case. 

At Monty’s confused look, Bellamy wondered if he should not have been so blunt, but Monty surprised him by asking, “I did not see you with Miss Griffin at the concert.”

“Err, no, I suppose we did not speak. There was not much time to speak to everyone in the interval.”

“But you noticed her with Miss Monroe?”

Bellamy flushed at Monty’s interest. “My circle is still limited in London. Of course, I am going to notice her. Who wouldn’t? The box where she sat is easily observed,” he finished awkwardly, well aware that it was not the box that drew attention, but rather the elegant lady sitting within it.

“I see.”

“So,” Bellamy said after a few, silent moments.

“Yes?”

He was embarrassed to own his interest in the answer, but at least he could be assured Monty was a safer route for obtaining the information than anything else he might try. “It seemed there may have been at least one suitor Miss Griffin cared for,” he prompted.

Monty hesitated, but eventually replied, “Apparently there was one gentlemen whose suit she had planned to accept if it had been delivered on time. Mr. Collins.”

Bellamy’s eyes widened. “Mr. _Finn_ Collins?”

“The very same.”

Bellamy tried to school his expression. That gentlemen’s interest in Octavia had waned soon after Bellamy’s refusal to invest in his business, though she thankfully hadn’t been at all disappointed. What unsettled him most was the idea that that man had been someone Miss Griffin would prefer above others. A near proposal from a man like Mr. Wells Jaha he could well understand—but Mr. Collins?

“What do you mean he did not propose in time? Was it because of her father’s passing?” Bellamy asked. Once he said it, that did not seem right. If she had been truly fond of the boy, then she need only have waited to announce an engagement once the proper mourning period had passed.

“No, I believe this was after Mr. Griffin had passed.” Monty hesitated, lowering his voice before explaining, “It seems he spent most of a season courting Miss Griffin, and she liked him better than her other suitors. However, by the time Mr. Collins proposed to her, she had discovered he had already made promises to another lady.”

“He was already engaged?”

Monty nodded gravely. “The lady in question thought it was an engagement, but his intention had been to set her up as his mistress.”

Bellamy inhaled sharply. These things happened sometimes in the North too, even if they were not so common as in London, but the thought of someone trying to serve such a trick to a lady like Miss Griffin in marrying her while keeping a secret mistress— And Mr. Collins no less!

“I see. But Miss Griffin still seemed friendly with him.”

“Yes,” Monty acknowledged. “I wondered at that myself, but eventually, they must have learnt to get on with each other. As you and she have done, I suppose.” Bellamy was not certain what came over his face, but it must have given Monty a start because he soon backtracked, “Not that there is anything comparable in your situations! Whatever your misunderstanding with Miss Griffin, I didn’t mean to imply—“

“I know,” Bellamy reassured him.

However, Bellamy felt less than assured by this conversation. He had thought that over the course of these last few weeks, he had grown to understand Miss Griffin. But for the lady, so well-known for her decision to remain unmarried, to have once considered breaking such resolve over a man like Mr. Collins suggested he did not know her as well as he thought.

And if that was the case, why did he care quite so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who left comments/kudos, I hope you enjoyed this update! :) Part 4 will be up next week.  
> The tumblr post with the art is [here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/626614090115252224/useyourtelescope-smallestbrown-my-first-of).


	4. Chapter 4

No doubt the reason for Bellamy’s disquiet upon learning Miss Griffin had almost affianced herself to Mr. Collins seems quite obvious to the reader, but it took another ball before Mr. Blake’s sentiments were plain to himself.

Not, of course, the ball Miss Griffin had orchestrated in honour of the Blakes—that was still a full two weeks after the enlightening tea at the McIntyre house and, whatever his other faults, Mr. Blake’s intellect was keener than that—but at Almack’s, only two days later.

In the days preceding it, Bellamy’s thoughts remained on the information Monty had shared with him. Some of his acquaintance would have found the knowledge that Miss Griffin liked women as well as men to be far more shocking than a near-betrothal to a youthful and charming bachelor, but Bellamy had friends back home with the same partiality and therefore found this immaterial. It was only the fact that a lady of quality like Miss Griffin could have her head turned by a fop like Mr. Collins that he could not make sense of. 

He supposed it had been some years ago; in her youth, she may have been more trusting. A trusting disposition could easily be altered by such an incident.

Marcus had made out that Miss Griffin’s resolution to remain unmarried had been purely a result of wealth and position. But perhaps it had been influenced by disappointment as well?

It even occurred to him that Miss Griffin’s trick at Mrs. Bragg’s might have been intended not only for himself but Mr. Collins as well until he recalled that she had given the same information to Lord Daxton and others. Indeed, he had seen her speak cordially to Mr. Collins on several occasions, even if they did not seem to share the warmth of her friendship with Mr. Jaha.

Bellamy had not quite reconciled himself to this information even as their carriage pulled up to the ball. Almack’s was just as impressive as they had been informed, not that Bellamy paid half so much attention to his surroundings as his sister. To the casual observer, he may have appeared to take in the setting, but rather than studying the grand rooms or the impressive crowd, he was searching for one person in particular.

A truly fruitless task, for even the best-trained eye would struggle to pick out one blonde head in such a crowd, but a man in love—even a man who does not yet realise his state—can be excused for foolhardiness.

“There’s your favourite admirer,” Octavia said, interrupting her brother from his searching.

“Who?” he demanded, his head jerking.

With rather more subtlety than her brother, Miss Blake nodded her head to the side, directing his attention to Miss Bragg and her mother. Neither lady had seen the Blakes, and Bellamy preferred to keep it that way, turning his head back so they would not make eye contact by accident.

“I would hardly call Miss Bragg my favourite admirer,” Bellamy said in a low voice.

“No? Miss Breeland then?”

Bellamy had to hold back a shudder. If he had thought Miss Bragg was persistent, Miss Breeland took her attentions to a new level. “Certainly not.”

“Then who would you say is your favourite admirer?” Octavia asked sweetly, belying the sparkle in her eyes.

“I don’t believe I have one.”

“Very well,” Octavia said, matching his even tone. “But if you wish to escape the attentions of those two ladies, I suggest you avoid getting cajoled into asking either for the supper dance.”

“I will likely have to ask them to dance, Octavia,” Bellamy said, Marcus having reminded him to stick to his previous advice of dancing with a variety of acquaintances.

“Yes, but not the supper dance.” Her eyes narrowed. “Were you not listening when Indra explained?”

“Of course I was,” Bellamy lied.

“Then what is it?”

“It is the last dance before supper.”

Seeing through his reply, Octavia huffed before explaining, “And the men are expected to take the ladies they dance with into dinner and dine with them.”

“Ah. Yes.” He had forgotten that part.

“Who will you take?”

In truth, Bellamy wasn’t sure. “I shall have to ask Indra to do me the honour.”

“I am serious, Bellamy,” Octavia said. “You know it will be expected that you take a young lady with you. And don’t say Gaia.”

Bellamy searched his mind for a young lady that he would like to converse with tonight, notably skipping past his initial choice before saying, “Perhaps I shall ask Miss Martin.”

“Miss Gina Martin?”

“I thought you liked her,” Bellamy said to Octavia’s frown.

“She is a nice girl, but I didn’t realise you were interested in courting her.”

“I am not. She is very amiable, however, and I like speaking with her.”

“There’s no one else you might ask?”

“Well, Miss McIntyre will be dancing with Monty, I’m sure.”

“And what about Miss Griffin?”

Bellamy had begun to suspect that this was where she had been leading, but had not thought she would ask him outright—especially not in such a public place. But by virtue of being as crowded and loud as it was, he supposed Almack’s hall inadvertently provided more opportunity for unobserved conversation than many smaller social gatherings.

“Miss Griffin does not like to dance.”

“And yet she stood up for every dance at Lady Diyoza’s ball.”

“Only because of my machinations.” He resisted the urge to adjust his cravat, which suddenly felt very tight. “We have reached a sort of understanding, Miss Griffin and I. Not that we are friends exactly—but in the interest of maintaining our good terms, I would not like to provoke her as I have in the past.”

“Bellamy, am I to understand that in order to show Miss Griffin your friendship, you have decided not to ask her to dance at all?”

“Of course,” Bellamy said, as if it were obvious.

Octavia shook her head but said no more.

“Well,” Bellamy said, uncomfortable with her silence. “What about yourself? Is there anyone you wish to ask you for the supper dance?”

Octavia’s attention seemed far away from him, but she smiled cheekily and tapped his shoulder with her fan. “Never you mind that, dear brother,” she said before disappearing amongst the crowd.

Once Octavia had left his side, Bellamy decided it would be in his best interest to disappear as well, lest Miss Bragg notice his presence. He could not avoid the lady all night, nor did he wish to, but at least when he did meet her, he had already secured Miss Martin for the supper dance. Despite his sister’s prodding, Bellamy remained pleased with his decision. Miss Martin was an excellent conversationalist, and if he were looking for a wife, he supposed she was the sort of woman Marcus would say was suitable. She was a gentleman’s daughter but not so lofty as to look down on his position. He doubted she had the moderate wealth of Miss Breeland, but given her position in society and her quality of dress, he believed she likely had a decent dowry. Her conversation suggested a good education, and she was very pretty.

Nonetheless, he still didn’t feel a desire to actively court the lady. As happy as he was during their conversation when he asked her for the dance, he was just as happy when Monty and Miss McIntyre joined them. He might have felt guilty for securing her last dance for fear of raising false hopes, but her behaviour was never coquettish in the style of Miss Bragg or Miss Breeland. Indeed, when Monty and another two gentlemen asked Miss Martin to dance shortly after, she seemed equally as pleased to accept their invitations as she had his.

Satisfied, Bellamy stopped worrying as he mingled. Mr. Jordan was attending his first large event since his accident, and though he was not fit enough to dance, he seemed happy to be in society again. Whilst speaking to his young, injured friend, Bellamy was delighted to meet with Mr. Wells Jaha, whom he had not seen since that fateful night in Grantham.

Mr. Jaha was just as delighted to meet again, and the gentlemen spent such a long time conversing that Mr. Kane was required to interrupt and remind Bellamy that he must not neglect the ladies.

As Marcus did not specify which ladies, Bellamy decided to seek out the one he hoped to meet tonight. He had engaged himself to dance with Miss Cooper, Miss Carlow and Miss Monroe before he finally found Miss Griffin alone by the refreshment table.

“Good evening, Miss Griffin.”

He had not meant to startle her, but he could tell from her countenance that she had not heard him approach. Still, she smiled genially and replied in kind.

“I thought I might not find you amongst the crowd.”

Her look turned intrigued as she lowered her glass from her lips. “I didn’t realise you were looking for me, Mr. Blake.”

“Oh, I wasn’t _looking_ specifically, I only thought— How can one find anyone of their acquaintance when there are so many people here?” he finished awkwardly.

“Yes,” she agreed with a small smile. “As exclusive as it is, Almack’s can be very crowded indeed. Does it not meet with your estimation then?”

Bellamy quickly assured her that it did, more out of obligation than any particular personal preference. From the look in her eyes he felt she knew that was why he had spoken thusly, and so continued, “I think there is little anyone could fault in Almack’s. Though I confess I had not known what to expect, having never seen anything like it in Yorkshire.”

Miss Griffin smiled. “I am sure many ladies in attendance tonight will be pleased to hear you say so.”

“I can hardly imagine Lady Diyoza or her fellow patronesses would put much stock in my opinion.”

“Once again you are too humble, Mr. Blake. But I own I was largely thinking of the many other ladies who would wish to meet you here.”

She spoke teasingly, her gaze darting across the room at the ladies she was referring to—those much younger and less married than the patronesses of Almack’s. He had been well aware Miss Griffin did not count herself among those ladies, but he did not like the slight pang in his chest at the thought. He moved their talk to a safer subject, asking Miss Griffin after her evening thus far and she responded politely.

As their conversation continued, Bellamy could not help but feel the difference from their last meetings. They were essentially alone, but they did not speak as they had in Hyde Park. As amiable as it was, their conversation lacked openness. Miss Griffin was in good form, but they spoke of things he might discuss with anyone. He had not quite determined how to rectify the situation when they noticed couples starting to take their places on the dance floor. He had not asked anyone for the first dance—largely out of concern that it might give rise to false hope that he might be eager to spend time with any lady in particular—but he was engaged to Miss Bragg for the second and would have to find her shortly.

“I believe the dancing is starting,” Miss Griffin observed.

“Are you dancing this evening?” he asked.

She glanced up at him, her eyes careful. “Is that an invitation?”

“No! That is, I have no desire to torment you again.”

She looked away, but he believed she was smiling. “Thank you. How thoughtful.”

As Miss Griffin chewed her lip, Bellamy suddenly wondered if perhaps he had not given the right response. Perhaps she would like to dance if it were only one or two sets; she was an excellent dancer. As they were alone, she would no doubt tell him directly if she did not truly wish to, and that would be the end of that.

Before he could voice his question, though, she said, “Actually, I have already promised to sit with Jasper for the dancing.”

“Oh?”

“As he cannot dance, it seems unfair that he should miss all his friends for the duration. I thought I would sit out with him, and we would go into dinner together after the supper dance.”

Bellamy felt his countenance soften, and though she kept her eyes on the crowd in front of them, he looked away lest she see. “That is very kind of you,” he said warmly.

“As you must be the last person who would think me in any way agreeable, I shall take that as a high compliment indeed.”

Bellamy’s lips twisted at her tart comment. “And I suppose that in the face of so many eligible beaus for Octavia to catch, I must be complimented that you have not compared me to a scheming mama tonight.”

His smile widened at the surprised burst of laughter his reply elicited. “The night is still young, Mr. Blake. Perhaps you do have such a scheme in motion,” she said with good-humour. “For yourself as well as your sister.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“The unhappy look on Miss Bragg’s face,” she said lightly.

Bellamy’s gaze darted around the ballroom until they settled on the lady in question. Her head jerked as his eyes fell on her in such a way that made him certain she had just been looking at them.

“I have engaged Miss Bragg for the next dance,” he explained, and it required some effort for him to dispel the disappointment from his voice.

No such disappointment was mirrored in Miss Griffin’s plain reply, “Then, pray, don’t let me keep you. I fear she shall be staring daggers at me the rest of the night if I do.”

Intermittently throughout the evening, Bellamy thought of a number of clever responses he could have made to Miss Griffin’s dry comment, but in the moment, he only muttered a muted response before bowing and moving to claim his dance partner.

Still, this failure did not mar his evening to any great degree. He chatted with friends and danced with pretty ladies, who were not all so irritating company. Indeed, Miss Martin made for an excellent companion at dinner—though Bellamy had reason to fear she would not say the same of him. The number of times his attention was turned by the sound of a particular laugh all the way at the other end of the room was embarrassing. Particularly considering Miss Martin appeared to have noticed his flickering gaze, even if she was too well-bred to comment on his terrible manners beyond a sly smile.

His embarrassment was far greater the next morning when he woke up from an illuminating dream.

Bellamy did not regularly remember his dreams, and largely, this one was no different. But he did awake with the clear image of a pastel blue ribbon threaded through blonde hair; his own hands uncurling the ribbon before slowly removing pin after pin until at last all the golden curls fell free. It was only as she turned and rested her head upon his shoulder, closing her eyes and letting out a contented sigh that Bellamy realised it was Clarke in his arms. At which point, he stirred, leaving the dream behind.

In truth, he would have felt less embarrassed to imagine something rather more graphic (for Bellamy did not think there was any shame in simply dreaming of lying with a beautiful woman), but both of them had been fully dressed, engaging in a rather different kind of intimacy—one he had never shared before. To have a longing for something of that kind could mean only one thing, surely?

There had been women in the past who had turned his head, but none had ever made their way into his heart. It was now clear to him that Miss Griffin—who already broke from the mould in so many other ways—had finally changed that.

Of course, it seemed perfectly in keeping with Bellamy’s luck that when he had fallen in love it would be with the one woman he was already assured had no interest in his suit.

When he went down to breakfast, he felt sure the high colour in his cheeks was plain, and yet neither Octavia nor Marcus saw anything to comment on—and he knew his sister at least would be the first to ask after any signs of embarrassment.

Marcus instead asked how they had enjoyed the ball, particularly noting the siblings’ choice of partner for the supper dance. He offered to learn more about the Martin family if Bellamy was truly interested in Miss Martin, but when he assured Marcus he was not, he turned his attention to Octavia, who had gone to supper with Mr. Wells Jaha.

Octavia played coy at first over this supposed “conquest” but eventually insisted she and Mr. Jaha were only friends.

Bellamy was not joining Marcus that day—it had been insisted that he must have a new coat made for the ball in their honour, now less than two weeks away—so once their benefactor left, Bellamy took his turn to caution his sister.

“If you do like Mr. Jaha—“

“I don’t,” Octavia said simply, helping herself to more fruit. “That is, I like him very well, but I have no desire to marry him.”

“And do you think he is fond of you?” Bellamy asked.

“Isn’t everyone?” she said cheekily. “Mr. Jaha and I were merely reacquainting ourselves when we realised we were both the quarry of a number of unwelcome parties for the supper dance. Dancing with each other seemed a much preferable solution. So, you see, it was only in friendship. We were sat by Miss Griffin at dinner.”

“Yes, I noticed.”

Octavia’s lips pursed. “Did you now?”

“Yours was a rather lively corner.” He did not mean it as censure. If anything, he had been a little envious. Although Miss Martin had made for good company, their other dining companions had not been half as entertaining as Octavia’s. At least Lord Daxton’s sulkiness over Bellamy’s lack of interest in investing had been a marginal improvement over hearing yet another business proposition.

“Yes, it was a good group,” Octavia agreed. “Even Miss Griffin was very friendly.” When Bellamy made no response, Octavia studied him over the rim of her teacup. “You have nothing to add? You don’t wish to remind me of her disparaging remarks in Grantham?”

Bellamy sighed. “Those comments aside, I think— It seems I might have been mistaken in her character.”

“Oh?”

“She is not quite what I first thought. In truth, Octavia, she apologised for what she said, and I apologised for my practical jokes.”

“I am glad to hear it. Has she accepted your apology?”

“Yes, she seemed to. I suppose we are friends now, in a way.”

“Good. Then perhaps she can assist us in dropping this absurd pretence of our supposed inheritance.”

“Oh— No. That will not be possible.”

Octavia pouted. “I know Marcus says it will be worse for the truth to come out now, but all the attention is frankly exhausting. You know, a man followed me between shops the other day and tried a new manner of proposal in each one. Oh, I was with Gaia and Indra, and Indra soon saw to him—he will not be bothering me again,” Octavia added to placate her brother’s clear concern.

It took a bit more effort to put Bellamy at ease, but when he was finally satisfied, he addressed her earlier comment. “If you would like us to clear up the rumours, I can speak to Marcus again and see if he thinks there is anything we can do to temper them. However, I don’t see how we could now let the entire truth come out and remain in London, having perpetuated the lie for so long. We certainly could not enlist Miss Griffin’s help.”

“Why not if you are now friends?”

“Because she still doesn’t know.”

Octavia’s eyes boggled. “I thought you said you apologised for your tricks.”

“I did! But she still thinks we are rich.”

Octavia groaned. “Bell! Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”

Bellamy took a deliberate bite of his toast, a stalling tactic that did not fool one who knew him as well as his sister.

“It is plain that you have feelings for her— Don’t try to argue,” she added hastily when he opened his mouth to do just that despite the food still in it. “You might be able to hide it from everyone else, but you cannot pretend with me. How do you expect to court her if she does not know your true situation?”

He wanted to deny it—he had only realised the state of his own feelings mere hours ago, after all—but it would be nice to unburden himself.

Besides, his answer was simple. “Because I don’t expect to court her at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Miss Griffin has already made plain her thoughts on matrimony. Even if she were so inclined, a lady of her station is hardly going to marry a man like me.”

“Bellamy!” Octavia cried, outraged on his behalf. “You cannot think that! What objection could there be? We might not be as rich or as genteel as her, but our father was still a gentleman. We have been accepted by Mr. Kane, not only her family friend, but one of equal status.”

“ _Your_ father was a gentleman. No one knows who my natural father was,” he pointed out gravely. “London society may welcome us now I have the Blake name and Marcus Kane’s approval, but the ton will never entirely accept me. Why do you think the news of our supposed fortune attracted only half so many ladies to me as it did gentlemen for you?”

Octavia looked so forlorn that Bellamy felt the need to reassure her. “It does not upset me; Lord knows, I didn’t truly expect to find a wife in London.”

“I thought you liked London,” Octavia said, a little sadly.

“I do like it,” he replied instinctively, before stopping to consider. It was true enough, but he supposed the attraction was the people he had met and liked rather than the place itself. Though there were many fine activities in the city, he missed aspects of the quiet country life they had led before. “Don’t you?” he asked, wondering at Octavia’s continued frown.

“I do. I am glad I got to see it. But I will be even gladder to go home at the end of the season and marry Lincoln.”

“Has he written? He can provide for you?“

“Not yet. But since Marcus said he will give me a dowry—”

“In the belief you would marry a gentleman you met here; I don’t believe he imagined he would be settling money on you to marry a stable hand.”

Octavia pursed her lips. “He may come around.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then we will just have to wait a little longer until Lincoln has saved enough.” Matter settled, they went back to eating in silence, which lasted only for a minute before Octavia asked, “Do you want to go back home at the end of the season?”

Bellamy frowned. “I’ll go back when you do.”

Octavia sighed. “Your life doesn’t have to revolve around me, Bellamy. You know we have spent more time apart these last few weeks than we have together? I have spent most days with Indra and Gaia, or Kara and other ladies, while you have been working with Marcus or meeting Monty—and Miss Griffin,” she finished pointedly.

Bellamy did not rise to this final bait, instead reminding her, “We have still seen each other every evening. I like to know I will be there if you need me.”

“You can be still, but don’t come back home only for me, Bellamy,” Octavia said. “If you go, do it because you want to.”

* * *

Bellamy had always assumed that their time in London would be limited to the season; that they would return back to their village, perhaps altered by their experiences with some entertaining anecdotes, but otherwise, nothing would change.

Though Marcus had been increasingly including him in his work, Bellamy hadn’t presumed he was setting him up for a permanent position. Octavia’s suggestion, however, made him reconsider. But did he even want to spend his days undertaking research for Marcus’ cases? It was preferable to being idle, but he missed working with his hands. Just as he missed the country. There were some benefits to remaining with Marcus (if that was indeed what the man wanted), such as making use of his horses, but even though it was nice to have the opportunity to ride as he could so rarely do back home, he found the prospect of city streets and parks too constricting.

Then there was Miss Griffin.

Remaining in London did not guarantee a greater intimacy of acquaintance when she only made London her home during the season. Even during the season, he was not guaranteed her time or attention. After the tenuous development of their friendship over their walks, he had expected to spend more time at the ball with her. On reflection, he supposed she had only asked for peace specifically during the walks, but she had not acted as if their détente was not still in play during their conversation, limited as it was. Besides, what need was there for distance at a ball or other occasions if they were not pulling their practical jokes? And what were her plans now for the ball in his and Octavia’s honour?

He decided the only way to know was to ask her, for he felt sure of getting an honest answer to a direct question.

However, Bellamy was disappointed once more when they arrived at the McIntyre house the following week to collect the ladies for their next walk to find that Miss McIntyre and Miss Griffin were accompanied by Mr. Wells Jaha.

It seemed Mr. Jaha had paid Miss Griffin a visit shortly before she was due to set off to the McIntyres and had been invited to join them.

It took great effort for Bellamy to hide his frustration at this development. In other circumstances, he would have been glad of having further opportunity to speak to Mr. Jaha, but it was highly dissatisfying to have his one opportunity for private, unguarded conversation with Miss Griffin taken away just as he realised how much he valued it. Additionally, as they walked, Mr. Jaha ended up in between himself and Miss Griffin—who, he noticed, took Mr. Jaha’s arm with a practised ease—so he could not even see her very well.

Still, Mr. Jaha was an excellent conversation partner and seemed especially interested in his work with Marcus. He spoke of his own business dealings, which sounded very hectic, but Bellamy was intrigued and had plenty of questions of his own. It was surprising that Miss Griffin did not contribute much to the conversation, however.

He would never consider her a shy wallflower, and she certainly didn’t give the impression of one now, but instead of her usual wit—taking delight in twisting his words—she involved herself in the straightforward business discussion only at careful intervals. Her comments always managed to draw replies from Bellamy about things that he had not quite realised he had learnt. He’d known she had a great intellect, even if he had been unaware she managed the estates her father left her, but he would have felt more at ease if she had delivered him another teasing set down rather than helping him explain what he understood.

_What a strange thing to miss_ , he thought.

He tried to give her an opening as they left Hyde Park—when Wells joined Monty and Miss McIntyre to observe an unusual species they had found. Miss Griffin looked as if she meant to follow suit, but Bellamy could not help but make use of the private interlude.

“I suppose I shall next see you at the ball,” he said.

Her eyes flickered to his face. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Should I be worried about what you have in store for me?”

She smiled lightly. “You have nothing to fear, Mr. Blake.”

“You will forgive me if I am not quite at ease.”

She laughed. “I have been thinking. Perhaps we have no need for practical jokes anymore. Now that we have made up, I suppose… I would like to think we are friends of a kind.”

“We are,” he said immediately. “That is, I hope we are.”

Miss Griffin nodded, her faint smile widening. “Then you can rest assured. I do not play such tricks on my friends, Mr. Blake.”

“Well, you are a much better person than I, for Lord knows I play many tricks on mine.”

She laughed more genuinely then. “In this instance, there seems no need for tricks now that we have both apologised and our secrets are in the open. Everything is plain between us.” She hesitated a moment before continuing, “Is it not?”

Bellamy looked from her to the ground before nodding, an uncomfortable feeling lodged in his chest. “Yes. Indeed.”

* * *

True to her word, there was no prank at the ball.

Though it was held in his and Octavia’s honour, the distinction didn’t require as much effort from himself as Bellamy had feared. The ball was smaller than those held by Lady Diyoza and at Almack’s, and though there were some guests Bellamy might have preferred not to be in attendance (Mr. Collins, for example), this did not disrupt from the overall enjoyment of the evening.

All the friends he had made since leaving Yorkshire were in attendance—even Jasper, who still could not dance but was very happy to be making merry with his friends, and Mr. Jaha, whose schedule Bellamy knew was very difficult to manage, lending all the more distinction to his appearance. Octavia was very happy to be a guest of honour, though he noticed she spent more time with her friends Gaia, Miss Cooper and Lady Diyoza’s daughter Miss Hope, only just old enough to be out in society, than entertaining the attentions of various gentlemen. Monty and Miss McIntyre only had eyes for each other—dancing together slightly more often than appropriate, but Mrs. McIntyre didn’t seem to mind, smiling fondly at the couple. Miss Griffin even seemed to be enjoying herself.

At least, he believed so. It was hard to judge from how little he spoke to her.

Being the guests of honour, Bellamy and Octavia stood in the receiving line to greet everyone as they arrived, and he had received Miss Griffin’s overly formal curtsey with a grin.

“What an honour it is to attend tonight, Mr. Blake,” she said after they had all exchanged pleasantries.

“The honour is all mine that you would grace us with your presence,” he responded with a somewhat sarcastic bow when he was sure her mother wasn’t looking.

He was quite pleased to be met with a wide smile, and his happy countenance persisted as Miss Griffin proceeded into the ballroom in spite of his sister’s pointed look.

He would have been much happier if it had not been their sole interaction the entire night. Whenever he saw her from across the room, she wore a pleasant countenance on her face—more animated when speaking to Mr. Jaha, the expression tighter with Lord Daxton and Mrs. Bragg—but somehow she was never there when he was able to seek her out.

At first, he thought it just bad luck—that she must have passed into another room before he could get to her, or he was caught by some new guest who must speak to him immediately—but as the night wore on, he wondered if she was avoiding him.

There seemed no reason for her avoidance. She had spoken just as jovially as he might have expected for their new friendship at the start of the evening— And yet.

Every other woman of his London acquaintance made an effort to speak to him at some point in the night. Even Miss Kara Cooper, whom he knew had no interest in him for all the time she spent with Octavia, stopped by him for a moment and asked after his evening. All the other eligible ladies were even more cordial, some dropping hints about the dancing if he did not ask them quickly enough after they had gone to the effort to cross his path. Some showed more subtlety—like Miss Carlow, who possibly had desired a drink from the refreshment table at the same time as him—than others, such as Miss Bragg, who had been walking in another direction and done an about face when she realised that if she changed course, she would accidentally-on-purpose stumble in front of him, forcing Bellamy to catch her and help her to a nearby chair. Miss Breeland had been the most cunning of all, following him when he had stepped out to the balcony for a brief respite and fresh air; clearly, she knew they should not be so unobserved together, and yet she stood very close to him indeed.

Thankfully, he had managed to extricate himself quickly, unwilling to get caught in a compromising position and be forced into proposing to a woman in whom he had no interest to save her reputation.

The night was not devoid of enjoyable interludes, of course. Not only did he speak with many of his friends, he had pleasant dances with the likes of Miss Martin, Miss McIntyre and Miss Monroe. This was not, however, enough for Bellamy to forget that Miss Griffin did not fall into his path once.

He met her eyes a few times across the hall and her countenance often changed to send an amused smile in his direction, a twinkle in her eye. He supposed he should be flattered that she would share a more open look with him than she did with so many who she known for so much longer, but it was all too brief to satisfy.

There was a time when he thought that might have been her trick—to keep him guessing all night at what he might suffer when really she had no intention of doing anything at all. She had said it was out of friendship that she had decided not to play any prank, but he would have far preferred a few teasing remarks, or a trick or two, to the complete absence of her company.

He decided he must only assume that it was because it did not matter to her. Certainly, he knew she would not chase his attention in the same way as the Miss Braggs and Miss Breelands of the world, Miss Griffin was not trying to catch him for a husband, but after their camaraderie in Hyde Park, he had thought she would at least speak to him.

Any consolation that he would speak to her again at their next walk were dashed only two days later when Monty called to announce that he had been given consent to ask Harper for her hand in marriage, and she had accepted.

That was not to say that Bellamy was saddened by this news—on the contrary, Bellamy was overjoyed for his friend, who had won the hand of a woman he loved and loved him back. But given his new status as fiancé, Monty was allowed to visit the house more often, Harper’s younger’s sisters in the room on a nearby chaise to play chaperone in the run up to the wedding. There would be no more need to walk out in full view of London society.

The end to the walks did not have to mean the end to Bellamy’s discourse with Miss Griffin, and yet he knew they would mean the end of something. It was not just that the walks had enabled them to discuss and resolve their misunderstanding, but they allowed them the freedom to speak more plainly than was possible at social functions, which had enabled them to understand them better. He was sure he would feel the loss of them—and Miss Griffin—quite keenly.

He was unlikely to see her alone now. Octavia was not as close with Miss Griffin as other ladies, so they did not call on each other often. And Bellamy did not have the kind of friendship with her that she shared with Mr. Jaha; it would be quite improper for him to call alone without reason.

His prediction sadly played out over the course of the next week, though more severely than Bellamy had thought. Miss Griffin was not in attendance at any of the functions they attended. The only time he saw her was at the theatre, but her box was all the way across the hall from theirs. He did not spy her in the foyer during the interval, and despite extended use of his opera glasses, he was not certain she had noticed he and Octavia were in attendance. Bellamy could not tell whether he was more disappointed to have skirted her notice or to have spent so much of the evening spying upon Miss Griffin that he missed the entirety of the play.

* * *

It was ten days after Monty proposed to Miss McIntyre that Marcus called Bellamy into his study. Bellamy worried that he had made some misstep in the latest papers he had written up for him, for he knew his mind had not been as focused as it ought to have been of late, but Marcus surprised him by asking about another matter altogether.

“I understand Mr. Green and Miss McIntyre are going to the country for their engagement party.”

“Yes,” Bellamy confirmed.

He had been surprised when Monty mentioned it when he had seen him and Jasper the other day, for he didn’t think Londoners left the city before the season was over. However, it seemed Miss Harper McIntyre had liked the idea of an engagement party at a more scenic locale, like her family’s country home in Hampshire. There had been mention of the attraction of a quieter group, though it seemed her mother had been inviting an ever-growing number of people.

“Which day do you wish to travel down?”

Bellamy started at him blankly for a moment. “Travel?”

“Yes. My nearest estate is ten miles away from the McIntyre’s, but I am sure you could still travel down with your friends if you wished. What day does Mr. Green depart London?”

“A week tomorrow, I believe. But I had no notion of attending, sir.”

Marcus looked up from the papers on his desk, surprise plain on his face. “No? But Mr. Green is such a particular friend of yours. Perhaps you don’t approve of his choice?”

“On the contrary. Miss McIntyre is a fine young woman. I believe they will do well together.”

“Well, then. Is there a young lady who will be remaining in town that you wish to see?”

Bellamy nearly choked. “No, indeed not.” The only young lady he wished to see would certainly be attending the party—but he wasn’t about to inform Mr. Kane of her name.

“Then may I ask why you wish to remain in London when your dear friend will be celebrating a joyous occasion in the country?”

Bellamy coloured at Mr. Kane’s dry tone. “Octavia would rather stay in London.”

“And you don’t trust that Indra and myself can take care of her for two weeks?”

“No— That is, of course I trust you both, sir. Only…”

“Only?” Marcus prompted.

“I have never left her to anyone else’s care since—”

He could not finish. From the softened look on Marcus’ countenance, he knew the man believed him to be thinking of his mother and stepfather’s passing. In truth, Bellamy had been instilled with such a sense of responsibility for his sister that the interval went back much further.

“I can understand that would make you feel anxious,” Marcus said gently. “But she will not be under your protection forever, Bellamy. Perhaps it will do you both some good to have this time apart.” When Bellamy did not immediately respond, Marcus continued, “There will not be many preparations to make, so we need not decide today. Think on it for a few days and let me know what you decide.”

In the end, it did not take Bellamy above twenty-four hours to make up his mind. Octavia’s assurance of her indifference to his departure was swift, which left Bellamy to war with a completely unique decision in his life: whether or not to do something purely based on how happy it would make him.

Since he had become Octavia’s guardian, there were many things he had denied himself: late nights of drinking with friends, long leisurely rides with no destination in site, anything that had no practical purpose. He hadn’t even indulged in the company of a local tavern girl as he had occasionally in his early twenties, not after one of the girls had seemed like she was getting attached.

On the one hand, he could remain in London, continue to learn under Marcus and explore the city. On the other, he could spend time with friends in a part of the world he had never seen before.

The decision became easy when a letter arrived after breakfast, addressed to Mr. Blake in a hand he did not recognise. His eyebrows rose when he realised the letter was from none other than Miss Griffin.

They had not spoken since the last ball, and though she expressed her hope of finding him in good health, her letter was very frank and business-like. What the tone lacked however, the contents more than made up for. The Jordan, McIntyre and Griffin families all had houses in neighbouring villages in Hampshire, but as the Jordans could not accommodate additional guests at theirs, and Mrs. McIntyre did not approve of the betrothed couple sleeping under the same roof prior to the wedding, Mr. Green was to be a guest of Miss Griffin and her mother at their house in Chawton. As one of Mr. Green’s particular friends, Miss Griffin wondered whether Mr. Blake would like to join their party.

The request was made in a very proper way, clearly thinking of Monty’s comfort, but Bellamy could not help the slight quickening of his heart at such an invitation from the object of his affection. Even as consideration for Monty, she must think well enough of him to invite him to her own home—her preferred home, if he remembered correctly.

That was an invitation he could not refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left comments/kudos last time! ♥️  
> The last part will be up next week, with the final art! Check out the art so far in the tumblr post [here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/627261911783833600/useyourtelescope-useyourtelescope).


	5. Chapter 5

Bellamy travelled down with Monty in Marcus’ carriage a week later. Miss Griffin and her mother had left London a few days prior to make certain the house was in order, and when they arrived, they were greeted by Miss Cartwig, Miss Griffin’s former governess who now lived permanently in Chawton and looked after the house when the family was in London.

He had expected the house to seem intimidatingly grand considering it was to hold five of them comfortably, but on alighting from the carriage, the first thing Bellamy noticed was the magnificent grounds. The house itself was smaller than he expected, but inside, everything was well-turned out. It was fashionable but not ostentatious, just like Miss Griffin herself, and when he was shown to his rooms, they were just as fine as the ones he enjoyed in Marcus’ London home.

His only initial complaint was that the lady herself was not there to receive them. At least half of his reason for agreeing to come had been to see her. That complaint, thankfully, was resolved when he went down before dinner to find Miss Griffin waiting for him and Monty in the drawing room. Miss Cartwig and her mother were engaged to dine with friends elsewhere that evening, leaving just the three of them.

Given that he had spent so much of his last few weeks in London missing her company, one would think Mr. Blake had stored up plenty of conversation he would be eager to engage in with Miss Griffin while they waited for Monty to join them. However, on finding her smiling softly up at him from her seat, Bellamy felt all intelligent conversation leave his brain.

“Thank you for inviting me,” was all he managed to say once they had exchanged greetings.

“As I said in my note, you are very welcome,” she replied graciously. “I hope everything has been to your liking so far.”

“Yes, indeed. Your home is very—” Bellamy had started his sentence intending to finish with ‘nice’, but at the point of reaching the end had decided this was not complimentary enough and altered his thought to ‘grand’ and as a result conflated the two when speaking; what followed was unintelligible.

Bellamy cleared his throat, hoping she did not see the heightened colour on his cheeks. “I like it very much,” he said honestly.

“I am glad.”

Bellamy was pleased she seemed to be, and more pleased still when Monty joined them. He had expected he might regret the presence of a third, but Monty’s company lessened his awkwardness, and Miss Griffin’s company alongside another he called a friend was far more agreeable than the utter lack of Miss Griffin at all, which he had so recently been suffering from. He, Monty and Miss Griffin had a very enjoyable dinner, discussing the engagement party and wedding preparations. Miss Griffin seemed more at ease than he had found her in London, especially during their last few interactions, but he was not conceited enough to put that down to the company—only that the countryside suited her. She had, after all, said it was her preferred home.

From the following day on, they were often in greater company, either with her mother and Miss Cartwig present in her home or with the McIntyres and the Jordans when they all met at the McIntyre house.

Nonetheless the week soon confirmed to Bellamy that Miss Griffin truly was very dear to him. He did not know anyone who could hold a candle to her wit or her beauty, set off so well by the country sunshine. She was graciousness itself, as well. Her ease with Jasper and Harper could be easily understood, she had known them for so many years, but she even knew how to best interact with Monty, drawing him in when he sometimes appeared to be on the periphery.

Amongst the others, she would often catch his eye as if they were sharing a private joke over her aunt’s more outlandish ideas for the engagement party before trying to assist her cousin in changing her mind. Sometimes, they simply sat quietly on the lawn and read, Jasper, Monty and Harper laughing over some old story nearby.

However, his favourite moments were the occasions he found himself alone with Miss Griffin, either in the library before dinner, or in the hallway waiting for the others, when they were able to speak openly about anything that crossed their minds. Even if it was only a few moments, he treasured making her laugh.

Although he knew he had no cause to hope, Bellamy was truly glad he had made the trip, if only to have the memory of this time.

Unfortunately, this tranquillity could not last forever.

* * *

As the engagement party approached, plans had to be made for the arrival of the other guests. Two days before the big event, they were gathered in the McIntyre’s sitting-room making arrangements. They had just finished deciding on the menu for the following evening’s small dinner party when Mrs. McIntyre decided that “the young people” must have some entertainment during the daytime as well. Bellamy hid his smile at the arch look Miss Griffin flashed him when her aunt uttered these words, but his amusement faded when the proposed entertainment chosen was a drive through the countryside.

He understood the merits of this plan: the weather was very fine, so of course they must be outdoors. Jasper, however, still could not walk unsupported for a great length of time and did not yet feel comfortable on a horse. This left driving, which Monty, Jasper and Miss McIntyre all eagerly agreed was a splendid idea that the other guests would enjoy.

Bellamy was not opposed, and certainly wanted to enjoy the scenery in a way that would allow Jasper to join in, but when Mrs. McIntyre started wondering which of the young men would drive their curricles and phaetons, he felt itchy. At least he did not have to interject when she suggested Mr. Blake might want to bring his because the lady immediately contradicted herself by recalling it must still be in Yorkshire and continued on to other gentlemen who might bring their own.

Bellamy was debating how to best excuse himself from responsibility as a driver—for he really did not want to admit he did not know how—when Miss Griffin called to him from her place by the window, asking for his opinion on the book she had with her.

He was surprised to be appealed to, for he did not think she had opened the book since they arrived, but he swiftly crossed to her side.

Bellamy had barely looked over the cover of the novel she pressed into his hands before she said quietly, “Mr. Blake, I’m afraid I have called you here under false pretences.”

He blinked, studying her carefully, but her countenance gave nothing away. Behind them, Mrs. Jordan and Mrs. McIntyre continued making plans with interjections from Monty, Harper and Jasper, seemingly oblivious to their separate discussion. “What pretence is that, Miss Griffin?” he asked.

“I am hoping to ask you for a favour. You see, I would very much like to take my curricle on this outing, for I have not had the chance to drive for some time, but I fear if we leave the main of the planning to Mrs. McIntyre I will end up in another vehicle. You see,” she whispered, “my aunt does not think it entirely appropriate for ladies to drive. I fear if I insist upon it, I will end up driving only myself.”

Bellamy frowned. “But why would you not have a companion?”

“My curricle can only fit one other, and you know the ladies joining us tomorrow will want to ride with gentlemen. And, shall we say, most men prefer to take the reins over being driven by a lady.”

“I see,” he replied wryly.

“I hoped that perhaps—as a friend—you would not feel insulted to ride with me?”

Bellamy had to duck his head so she would not see the full extent of his smile. “No, Miss Griffin. I would not be insulted at all.”

No one had any objection to this proposal when it was voiced. They had realised that Jasper would require extra room to stretch his leg, so the landau that normally took four would only seat three; he would ride with Monty and Harper, and arrangements for the others joining their party were drawn up.

Not all who were to attend the evening party the following day had come down early enough to join the drive, but there was a large enough party for merriment—and for Bellamy to be glad of having made prior arrangements, for both Miss Bragg and Miss Breeland were in attendance and seemed heartily disappointed that they were not to enjoy his company in solitude.

His lucky escape was much on his mind when he set off with Miss Griffin, her curricle bringing up the rear, and he thanked her for asking him to join her.

“I should be thanking you,” she replied, her eyes not leaving the road. “A lady driving with London’s most eligible bachelor by her side is infinitely more respectable than one driving alone.”

He did not quip back at her comment on his eligibility again, knowing it would be of no use, but he could not let the other slide. “I don’t see how anyone could think you less than respectable.”

“It was not so long ago you thought very differently.”

“No, I suppose respectable is not the word I would have used,” he conceded.

“Odious perhaps?” she offered, an impish smile on her face.

“No!” he exclaimed in all honesty. “Only vexing—”

“And disagreeable!”

“Yes,” he admitted, joviality gone from his tone. “I am ashamed to think of it.”

Her countenance softened, the teasing expression fading. “I did not mention it to censure you, Mr. Blake.”

“I know.” He did not wish to abandon the light tone they had found, yet he felt it was necessary. “But you must forgive me—”

“You are already forgiven,” she said quickly. “And let us say no more on it. If you force me into serious conversation, everyone will think we are having a terrible time.”

Bellamy had not given much thought to the carriages in front of them, but as they were all open, the larger ones with seats that faced the rear, any serious looks would no doubt be easily observed, especially at the current moderate pace they all shared.

“I certainly would not want to mar your reputation, Miss Griffin.”

They talked instead of the plans for the engagement party, with Miss Griffin pointing out sights she particularly liked or thought he might enjoy as they drove past. He had worried he might find himself comparing it to the views back home, but as it turned out, he enjoyed these just as much. (Perhaps though, the unfamiliar landscape was aided by his company.)

There came a few joking calls from the other carriages for a race, but only Mr. Collins and Lord Daxton were drawn in, eventually directing their curricle and phaeton respectively around the others with Miss Bragg and Miss Breeland by their sides and dashing off in front.

“I expect you don’t mind that we do not participate in the race, Mr. Blake.”

“Not at all. I admit I have done the same on my horse when I was younger, but—” Bellamy sighed. Though he had been obliged to sell the horses they’d had, he had outgrown the need to show off by that time. He did not want to think about those circumstances and so reverted to a teasing tone, “I believe I am a much more discerning competitor. It takes a very particular set of circumstances to bring out my competitive side now.”

He noted Miss Griffin’s smile though her eyes remained on the road. Instead of rising to his tease, she said idly, “You would only race on horseback?”

“Well, I—” Bellamy stopped himself before he could reveal too much. However, after close study of Miss Griffin’s guarded expression, a thought occurred to him. “You know I cannot drive.”

She would not meet his eyes, but he observed the high colour of her cheeks, unwarranted by the mild air and light breeze.

“It struck me as a… possibility. I thought your step-father may not have kept a carriage.”

That was true, but it did not account for the fact that most men his age would likely have bought themselves one if they had come into an inheritance such as the one he was purported to have.

Bellamy’s suspicions began to stir. If she had guessed that, had she guessed the whole truth? Perhaps she thought he was the kind of man who preferred to be driven rather than drive himself.

No, he did not think she believed him so pompous—at least not anymore. And surely if she knew the whole truth, she would say so.

“Why did you not say that when you asked me to ride with you?” he asked.

“It seemed that you did not want to draw attention to it.”

“That was very kind,” he said finally. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her eyes flickered to his in what he believed was intended to be a passing glance, but for some reason, they remained caught on his. He could not decipher her countenance in that moment. Bellamy only knew that he wanted to reach out and tuck the loose tendril of hair hanging by the side of her face behind her ear.

For a moment, he believed he might give into the impulse, but before he could make such an impulsive, inappropriate gesture, the horses gave a cry and Miss Griffin’s gaze darted away. She jerked on the reins, pulling the horses to a sharp stop.

Returning his own gaze to the road, Bellamy realised that they had unfortunately been separated from the rest of their party by a large herd of cattle crossing the road. Beyond, the trail of carriages continued on their merry way, only Miss Griffin’s caught behind the obstacle.

“My apologies, Mr. Blake,” she said, her countenance flustered as they watched the cattle pass. “I assure you I am normally a quite competent driver.”

Bellamy immediately told her not to trouble herself, reassuring her of his faith in her abilities even if she could not foresee a sudden herd of cows.

She smiled at this. “I do not think they will take long to clear; we should be able to catch up to the rest soon enough.”

He nodded, though he didn’t particularly care how far behind they fell.

“I hope you have been enjoying our countryside here in Hampshire.”

“Indeed, I have.”

“I am glad. How does it compare to the sights of Yorkshire?” she asked, her body turned towards his.

“Very favourably. I am not sure I have ever seen such beauty as I have today,” he said warmly.

Her arched eyebrow suggested she had no notion he was not thinking of the same sights as her. “Indeed? All my other acquaintances from your part of the country will never concede that our county could compare.”

“Perhaps they have not had the right guide.”

Before he could judge her reaction, the last of the herd crossed into its field, and the farmer following them called out to Miss Griffin, wishing her a good day as he passed.

“Good day, Miller,” she replied, setting her horses in motion once more. “I hope you don’t mind if I pick up the pace,” she said with a mischievous grin.

“Not at all.”

He certainly enjoyed the faster ride, the wind running through their hair and Miss Griffin’s laughter in his ears. Despite their increased speed, the ride was still smooth. On reflection, he noted it was much smoother than many of the rides he had taken in London, despite being in larger, more luxurious carriages and on ostensibly better roads. He made note of this aloud, causing her smile to widen.

“I would like to take all the credit, but the better part of your compliment should go to my friend, Miss Reyes. She maintains my carriages.”

He had never heard of a lady doing such work, but he supposed, knowing the amount of work Miss Griffin did, nothing should surprise him anymore.

“And she is based in Chawton as well?”

“Yes. We met in London, but she found her talents were better appreciated in the country.”

“An old friend of yours?”

“No, we only met after I came out.” She paused, clearly deliberating before saying, “We were both proposed to by the same man in the same season. Although it transpired that he only intended to marry me and to set her up as his mistress.”

Bellamy had to work to hide his reaction, for though he realised instantly that she must be referring to the incident with Mr. Collins, he also remembered that he had not had that tale from Miss Griffin herself.

“I see. I am glad you could make friends after that.”

Her lips twisted into a smirk. “So you heard about it, then?”

Bellamy stammered through an unintelligible response before Miss Griffin put him out of his misery.

“Mr. Blake, I know you of all people would have a stronger reaction to that tale if you had been unaware of it. You need not put on an act to spare my feelings.”

Sheepishly, he owned that he knew the gist of the story, although he did not admit it was because he had asked for the details.

“Would it shock you to know that is not even the most scandalous rumour about me?”

Bellamy’s gaze flickered as he realised what she must be referring to. He was glad she would consider taking him into her confidence and weighed his response carefully. “I think nothing would shock me anymore when it comes to you, Miss Griffin,” he said, making clear in his tone that he meant this as a compliment.

A small smile played on her lips, but her expression remained careful. “Because you have heard them all?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

They rode on in silence before Bellamy said, “I must ask—”

“Yes?” she said, and he noted a hint of wariness in her voice.

“How can you still be friends with Mr. Collins?”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed and her smile softened. “I could not at first, but with time, his actions lost significance. We had known each other so long and must see each other so often in London society. It was easy to become friendly in the end. We will never be close confidantes, but with time, I came to understand him. After all, his scheme was no different than many other men of his position.”

“That may be,” Bellamy allowed, even if it didn’t sit right with him. “That he should try to trick you—”

She only laughed. “I don’t think many men make their mistresses known to their wives. Then again, the practice is commonplace enough that many of those who heard the whole story did not think it reason enough for me to reject his proposal.”

“Is that why you resolved to remain unmarried?”

Her expression twisted as she looked to the road again. “I am not sure where the rumour of my resolution to remain unmarried started. I am not against marriage in principle—having witnessed the bond between my parents, I know it is possible to have a happy and equal marriage. My only _resolution_ was not to accept anything less for myself. Unfortunately, for the ton, fortune and status are the only important qualities in a suitor.”

“But they are not important to you?”

“No,” she said quietly. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves seemed to swell as her gaze flickered to his. “They both matter very little to me.”

A lump caught in Bellamy’s throat. “What does matter to you, Miss Griffin?”

“Trust,” she said. “Respect. Not that I think a marriage must be an entirely solemn affair,” she added after his prolonged silence.

“No, to be sure. That would make for a very quiet life.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Trust is necessary for the years, but surely friendship and laughter must be required for every day.”

Bellamy nodded and felt a sudden sense of understanding about what he must do next. He knew he had no reason to hope, but in the interest of friendship—true friendship—he felt he must own his secret, especially since she had taken him into her confidence. Even if that meant she felt she could not trust him any longer, Bellamy was certain she would not betray his secret.

“Miss Griffin, I— There is something I wish to speak to you about.”

“Oh?” She avoided his gaze now. “It sounds important?”

“Yes. It is about my visit to London,” he said seriously.

“Yes? So you did not come only to see the sights and find suitors?”

His laugh was awkward, but before he could continue, Jasper had called out to them. Unbeknownst to Bellamy, they had caught up to the rest, and he certainly did not want to reveal his secret to them.

Miss Griffin seemed to understand that he could not speak in the presence of others and let the matter drop. Initially, he was glad that she did not press or try to draw him into any more direct conversation that afternoon. However, her circumspection extended to dinner that evening, where he was unable to get her attention. They were seated at different ends of the table, Miss Griffin claiming a place between Harper and Miss Monroe and Bellamy finding himself with Miss Carlow and Miss Martin, who had joined them for the evening. He had no quarrels with his dinner partners, particularly with the friendly Miss Martin, but it was very trying to not find a single moment alone with Miss Griffin now that he had made the decision to reveal his past pretence.

He was not sure whether to be more concerned that Miss Griffin truly did appear to be avoiding him this time around—the still small number of their party making it difficult not to put one another in company without some effort—or that, given the sly smile on her face whenever his attention returned to his plate during dinner, Miss Martin might have guessed who had caused his distraction.

* * *

He tried going down to breakfast early the next morning, since Miss Griffin was in the habit of eating early, but he then had to dine with only her mother and Miss Cartwig, Miss Griffin appearing even after Monty, with just enough time for one piece of toast before they were to take the carriage over to the McIntyre’s.

On arrival, Mrs. Griffin was immediately ushered inside to assist her sister-in-law, who had apparently been panicking over a last minute change of heart for the evening’s menu. Miss McIntyre and her younger sisters had walked into the village on an errand, leaving only Jasper awaiting them in the sitting-room. Monty was quick to join him.

Bellamy intended to follow suit, but he was surprised when Miss Griffin—who had not met his eyes all morning—stopped him.

“Mr. Blake,” Miss Griffin said, discomfort clear on her face. “Would you mind taking a walk with me in the garden? I should like to take a turn before the others arrive.”

He acquiesced, glad that she was no longer avoiding him.

She led the way and Bellamy followed until they were walking along a hedge. He meant to offer her his arm, but her mind seemed far away, her gaze fixed ahead. It offered him an excellent view of the way a familiar pale blue ribbon had been threaded through her hair, but he was too concerned to fully appreciate the sight. Although the McIntyres had well-kept grounds, he did not think the aspect in front of them particularly eye-catching. He had resolved to tell her the truth the next moment they were alone once more, but he did not wish to unburden himself when she seemed so troubled and add to her woes.

He adjusted the cuffs of his green jacket as he wondered how best to open the conversation since she did not seem in any hurry to do so. “You seem deep in thought, Miss Griffin,” he observed.

“Yes,” came her soft response. “I suppose I am.”

“May I ask what is troubling you?”

They walked a few paces more before she carefully responded, “In truth, I have been pondering your predicament, Mr. Blake.”

This only served to increase Bellamy’s confusion. He tried for a joke, “Do you mean my terrible manners?”

Instead of laughing as he had hoped, she frowned. “I believe we are now well enough acquainted that we might speak plainly with one another, Mr. Blake.”

Bellamy’s throat dried up. She would not say what he secretly wished. She had used the word _predicament,_ after all. But what, then?

“Yes, of course,” he agreed unsteadily.

“I fear that your fortune—or lack thereof—will not be enough for Miss Martin to accept you.”

He paled at the first part of her warning. At least while he thought she believed him to be rich, he could also believe she considered him not quite so far below herself in status. But she knew and—

His countenance morphed into one of comical confusion as the latter half of her statement caught up with him. _Miss Martin? Accept him?_

“Mr. Blake?”

Her prompt forced him to acknowledge that not only had he remained silent, but he had stopped walking, bringing her steps to a halt as well.

“How long have you known?”

Her face pinched at the question before she shook her head. “That is unimportant—”

“Not to me,” he stressed.

She sighed. “Since that night in Grantham.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows flew up so high they disappeared under his unruly fringe. “Truly?” he asked.

Her lips twisted. “Well, I didn’t _know,_ but I suspected. There was too much about your story that did not make sense.”

“Such as?”

Miss Griffin looked impatient to be finished with this line of questioning, but noting the insistence in Bellamy’s eyes, she explained, “I have heard many people boast about their wealth, Mr. Blake— _M_ _any_ ,” she stressed, with an expression that he could not doubt. “None of them wished for it to be kept a secret. And the way you spoke, I thought— Well, it seemed like a challenge. But I could not be certain until my mother all but confirmed it the other week.

“I had asked her outright before, when I returned from Grantham and realised it was for your and Miss Blake’s benefit that Marcus had asked her to host the party, but at first, she would not tell me anything. However, on our carriage ride home after the ball at Almack’s, she let slip that she was concerned by how much store had been placed in the Blake fortune. It seemed Marcus had initially led her to believe he wanted to help you and Miss Blake because your stepfather likely had not left much money behind and did not think your family had other connections. She did not believe the rumours entirely even when Marcus did not deny them. It was enough to confirm what I suspected myself.”

Bellamy did not know how to respond, guiltily avoiding her gaze even though he could feel it focused on him. It might have been a recent confirmation, but knowing that she had suspected so strongly from the first—he was too embarrassed to respond.

“Are you not angry with me?” he wondered.

She shook her head, a little sadly. “If I had thought you lied to impress me, that would have been another matter. At first, I thought you were only jesting, but once you revealed that you had overheard me, I understood why you responded as you did. And why you felt you could not own the truth when the rumour spread as far as it did. I only hoped to stop others discovering it.”

No wonder she had taken pity on him and offered a ride in her curricle; the ride where he thought he would so generously enlighten her.

“If you knew I had lied,” Bellamy said, “why have you gone out of your way since our drive to avoid allowing me to confess the truth?”

“That was what you were trying to say?” she asked, incredulous. “You said it was about your visit to London!”

“Yes! My visit where, on our first meeting, I lied to you.”

Blowing out a forceful breath through her nose, Miss Griffin shook her head. “I thought you were going to tell me about your plans for marriage.”

A strong heat rose to Bellamy’s cheeks before he could collect himself. She had not avoided him because she thought he was going to mention his marriage hopes relating to _her_ —

“Miss Griffin, have you been avoiding me because you thought I would tell you about my plans to propose to Miss Martin?”

The blush that rose to Miss Griffin’s cheeks was far stronger than what had graced Bellamy’s, the high colour all the more noticeable due to her pale complexion.

“Not to avoid the subject entirely,” she said hastily. “I was only hoping to receive confirmation that Wells would be able to take you on first, so that you would know you had a position before you proposed. And I had word from him this morning, which was why I wanted to speak to you without the others.”

“Before I proposed _to Miss Martin_?” he repeated.

“She isn't a fortune hunter,” Miss Griffin said in an reassuring tone, “but her family’s financial situation is not what it once was, and she will need a husband who can help support her parents. I have been speaking to Wells—who is very discreet, I assure you—and there is a position that we both think would suit you. It will not make you a rich man, but it will be more than enough to provide for a family and, I hope, stimulating enough for you as well.”

Bellamy did not even know where to begin. “You _both_ think it would suit me?” he repeated.

“Wells is discerning in his choice of employees, which is why I asked him to join us that day in Hyde Park.”

As the memory of that walk came back to him, Bellamy only laughed. Wells had indeed grilled him about the work he had been doing with Marcus, in a level of detail more suited to a potential employer than a curious friend, but he had been too busy mourning the lack of interaction with Miss Griffin to note the difference.

The noise of a carriage drawing up reminded Bellamy that they had not ventured very far from the house before halting. She gestured that they continue on and Bellamy eagerly followed her lead, reluctant to be interrupted yet again. Not when the full truth was so close to coming out.

Misinterpreting Bellamy’s silence, Miss Griffin suggested that if employment under Mr. Jaha was not to his satisfaction, she would be happy to assist him in setting up a business of his own.

“You would offer me an investment?” Bellamy said, astonishment plain in his voice.

“I would need to see your plans before anything was signed, naturally,” she said formally, “but I am sure you would do your due diligence.”

“Am I to understand that you make these offers and inquiries on my behalf so that I may marry Miss Martin?” The identity of his potential bride still boggled his mind. She was a kind, pretty woman, and perhaps if there had not been a Miss Griffin, it would have been a different story, but in the circumstances, he did not see how anyone else could compete.

“Yes,” she replied with notable impatience.

“And may I ask why you think I intend to marry Miss Martin?”

She stumbled almost imperceptibly—had Bellamy not been paying such close attention, he would not have noticed—before recovering with a cool response. “Everyone has been speaking of it.“

“Everyone?”

“Ah—” She faltered. “It has been discussed by many of our mutual acquaintances.”

“I see.”

He watched her fingers fidget in the fabric of her skirt before she said, “Do you mean to say you do _not_ intend to marry Miss Martin?”

Bellamy cleared his throat. “She is very amiable, but I have no interest in her other than friendship. I hope my behaviour has not given rise to false hope,” he said evenly, though he did not suspect it had.

“No, I… “ She looked away. “I know there has been gossip from many quarters, but never from Miss Martin or her family. ”

She studiously avoided his gaze, which gave Bellamy reason to hope in a way he had not yet allowed himself. He took a deep breath before daring to say, “In truth, if I were to propose marriage, there is only one lady to whom I could see myself wed.”

He looked to her, hoping she would see in his eyes what he was trying to convey, but she continued to stare at the ground. He willed her to turn and meet his gaze, unable to say more without encouragement on her part. He did not dare speak more openly until he was completely certain.

Without lifting her eyes from the grass, she spoke evenly, “I see. I do not wish to cause you pain, Mr. Blake, but I have reason to believe Miss Bragg and Miss Breeland only showed you interest because of your rumoured wealth.”

“I am well aware of that.”

She looked at him then, clearly surprised by his flippancy. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“I am not referring to either of them. In fact, it isn't someone I met in London.”

“Oh.” This time it was Miss Griffin’s turn to halt and Bellamy’s to follow suit. He thought he had finally made himself clear until he noted her forlorn look. “I didn't know you had a sweetheart back in Yorkshire.”

“Miss Griffin,” he replied, unable to hold back a laugh. Her obtuseness would hurt if her countenance hadn’t made her feelings quite so plain. “I have no sweetheart waiting for me. But— You were right in thinking I am in a predicament. You see, the woman I have fallen in love with is the most vexing woman in the world.”

She blinked once, eyelashes fluttering, before finally raising her eyes to his. He saw in her gaze the instant she understood him, his chest growing warm as her smile blossomed.

The softness in her look was mirrored in her careful response, “I see. I confess I quite understand your situation, Mr. Blake.”

He stopped trying to hide his own smile. “You do?”

She nodded. “Yes. For I have fallen for the most disagreeable man of my acquaintance.”

Bellamy let out a bark of laughter, and when he met her eyes again, he felt his happiness reflected in them.

She lifted unsteady hands out to him, and Bellamy took them immediately between his, relishing the warmth and strength in them that, before, he had only been able to feel too briefly.

“Miss Griffin—” he began, but she immediately squeezed his hands and shook her head in rebuke. “ _Clarke_ ,” he tried again and was rewarded with a brilliant smile. “Could you— Would you—” He almost laughed at himself as he struggled to form the words he never dreamed he would be able to say.

“Bellamy,” she said, and though her laugh showed her nerves too, it soothed him to hear his given name from her lips.

If he had dared to hope he might one day have this moment, he would have thought more about what he might say. Something to reflect all her wonderful and maddening qualities that had kept her in his thoughts every day since their first meeting. But he had made no such preparations. He could try to conjure pretty words, but knowing artifice would never do with Clarke, he simply said, “Will you marry me?”

She was nodding even before he had finished. “I will.”

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, Bellamy raised their joined hands, tenderly brushing his lips across her knuckles.

He heard her inhale before she pulled from his grasp to put her hands on his shoulders, pushing him backwards into the hedge and fixing her lips on his. Shock and surprise warred with pleasure in Bellamy’s mind. He soon found he was a terrible kisser when he was joyously laughing too much to be an active participant.

“Must we make such haste?” he asked, still laughing against her lips when she let out a noise of frustration.

She drew her face away to exclaim, “I have had to listen to weeks of gossip about your upcoming nuptials to nearly every eligible woman in London! And I had to sit there, never able to say—”

When she twisted her lips instead of continuing, Bellamy prompted intently, “Say what?”

Her hands moved from his shoulders to fix around the back of his neck, her eyes alight. “You are mine.”

In response, his hands tightened on her waist of their own accord. “I am,” he agreed.

This time, when she fixed her lips to his, insistently pressing herself against him, laughter was the last thing on Bellamy’s mind.

* * *

The new couple did not immediately make their engagement known, ostensibly because they did not want to overshadow their dear friends’ engagement party. Indeed, it would have been very bad form to announce a betrothal—especially the betrothal of London’s most notable and perhaps long-standing bachelorette—on the day of any engagement party. On closer consideration, however, one may wonder if the decision to wait more than a week after the proposal to make the knowledge public was partly because the couple enjoyed engaging in a new kind of subterfuge, sneaking away from prying eyes to spend time alone without their friends and families noticing.

Of course, when the announcement was made in the papers, it could not slip by unnoticed. Smelling salts had to be fetched in many households—not only for the young ladies like Miss Bragg and Miss Breeland, who were so distraught at seeing handsome Mr. Blake off the market, but for the likes of Clarke’s grandmama, who had not truly believed she’d live to see the day an engagement notice for Miss Clarke Griffin would appear in the papers. A notable exception was Miss Gina Martin, once considered by many to be a possible candidate for Mr. Blake’s future wife, who only smiled knowingly on reading the notice before turning the page.

Both Mr. Kane and Mrs. Griffin, though quite happy with the arrangement themselves, had expected the announcement to be met by the ton with shock. That a man of such low birth should win the heart of Miss Griffin was surely unexpected in most quarters. It became apparent, however, that the belief that Miss Griffin’s heart could not be won at all was so widespread that her choice of husband, and the fact that he was not the son of a gentleman, did not ultimately signify.

It should go without saying that the future held happiness for all interested parties, but this was not an easy journey for all. 

Despite Bellamy’s happiness for his sister when Marcus agreed to support her union to a poor stable hand, and her own joy for him to have found a worthy partner in Miss Griffin, the two siblings were sad to part. But what was the distance of a few hundred miles when Bellamy had a rich wife who was happy to arrange visits for Octavia and Lincoln, and their family as it grew over the years?

Indeed, the wealth of his wife meant the lack of his own inheritance never became known publicly, for Clarke had more than enough to support even the most outlandish rumours of his fortune. Bellamy enjoyed the countryside of his new home and soon made friends in the village, a circle made even happier when Mr. and Mrs. Green decided to move from London to the McIntyre home in Hampshire.

However, as many concessions as Clarke was willing to make for her husband, Mrs. Abigail Griffin would not have her daughter’s husband work as a tailor. Knowing Bellamy would not be content to sit idle, Clarke assisted him in finding a suitable position that would make everyone happy. It soon became clear that the one that suited him best required him to work quite closely with Clarke and help her manage the Griffin family estates.

A husband and wife living and working so closely together was not without its drawbacks. There were arguments—indeed, considering their initial meeting, what else could be expected?—but they had understanding enough not to resort to pranks whenever they disagreed and always came to some kind of peace. Soon enough, they settled into their new way of life.

So they lived for many years until one day, when if you had asked Bellamy his first impression of his wife, he might have forgotten that initial incident which precipitated his unfortunate lie, Marcus Kane wrote to him. This was not out of the ordinary in itself, for they had grown close and corresponded regularly. Furthermore, it was a special occasion, as Bellamy had written in his last letter to inform Marcus that he and Clarke were expecting their third child. What was unusual was Marcus’ news. The gentleman had mentioned before that though his estates were entailed and would go to a distant cousin, much of his fortune was from his mother’s side, supplemented by his work as a barrister, and as such, he could do with it as he pleased. Bellamy had never formed any expectation that, Marcus would one day decide to draw up a new will that would leave all that money to Bellamy and his children.

Bellamy stared at the letter, quite stunned, for long enough to draw his wife’s attention. Though he expected a reaction on passing the missive to Clarke, he was more surprised still when she burst into laughter.

Her amusement endured, and it took repeated attempts to gain an explanation. For whatever else it was, Bellamy didn’t think such a generous and kind gesture at all funny. When she had finally stifled her laughter long enough to answer, though, all became clear. Through Marcus’ will, Bellamy’s pretence at their first meeting had finally come true: he was to inherit a great fortune from an old family friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to Julie for her lovely artwork to accompany this fic! You can find the art pieces posted on tumblr: the kiss is [here](https://smallestbrown.tumblr.com/post/627632242112495616/my-final-piece-the-final-chapter-of-my-collab#notes), the rest are [here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/627261911783833600/useyourtelescope-useyourtelescope). 
> 
> And many thanks to everyone who took the time to read and leave comments & kudos! I really appreciated every one and it helped me finish off the final edits I needed to get the last few chapters of this posted. I hoped you enjoyed this final part. ❤️
> 
> Finally a reminder I'm participating in **The T100 Writers for BLM initiative** (recently rebranded from Bellarke fic for BLM). If you enjoyed this and would like to send me a prompt, please drop me an ask or DM on tumblr. I'm open to various prompts (for Bellarke as well as other fandoms I write in), you can see more info on it all on my tumblr [here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/620650761956818944/taking-prompts-for-blm-initiative).
> 
> ETA October 2020: Thank you to everyone who voted for this fic in the Bellarke Fic Writer Awards; this made it through to Round 3 in a few categories and I really appreciated it :)


End file.
